Soda For One
by Nyx6
Summary: Mike is perturbed when a new client takes a shine to him. Harvey on the other hand finds it amusing. That is until he receives a call one night from Mike, in trouble and needing his help. Calculated Harvey angers follows with a dash of Donna fury thrown in for good measure. Bromance; nothing more. Mild peril; nothing heavy. Happy reading.
1. Prologue

Before I decided to write my own Suits stories I lurked around here quite a bit and developed a bit of a taste for poor old Mike getting himself into tricky situations. My only problem is that sometimes I feel like the guys lose character in the rush to make additional hurt/comfort opportunities. My task to myself was to make one where they didn't. I have no idea if I have succeeded or not but hey, at least I gave it a shot!

Best foot forward...

* * *

 **Prologue.**

"I'll have the contracts on your desk by the end of the day."

It had started with Harvey's usual promise; sandwiched in between him standing from his seat and offering a handshake over the desk. The usual response was a handshake back, a firm business-like nod of acceptance and sometimes – but not always – some expression of thanks. In the world of high-business it was what passed for goodbye although clearly no one had told Tucker Stemmings who had instead remained sprawled across the black leather armchair, lazily swirling the dregs of his drink and brushing the dirt from his red velvet suit.

"Oh no," he'd drawled as Harvey had watched him, hand still hanging over the desk, "No need for that, I'll tell you what, have _Michael_ deliver them to me at the club."

Quickly all eyes had swung in his direction and feeling the sudden burn of intensity Mike's eloquence had got up and fled from the room.

"Huh? Wait, _me_? As in – ,"

"You, yes," Tucker had replied, a devilish smirk tugging at his lips and twisting the shape of his pepper pot goatee. It had been by no means a reassuring spectacle and under the stare of the red bulbous eyes Mike had felt himself starting to squirm,

"But – ,"

"Sure he will," Harvey had countered, throwing him headlong into the lion pit, "He'd be happy to, wouldn't you Mike?"

"Well – ,"

Tucker hadn't needed to wait for an answer, slapping his thigh and rising from his chair before pausing briefly to finish his drink,

"So that's settled then, the club, tonight?"

"Trust me," Harvey had continued smoothly, inching their client ever closer to the door, "He wouldn't miss it."

Tucker had grinned, turning in the doorway to flash his white teeth. They were narrower than Mike expected normal teeth to be and jammed in together like a line of people waiting impatiently outside a venue. The fact that they were framed by drooping jowls did little to compliment the overall look which had been finished in style with the aforementioned velvet and an _actual_ cravat in garish animal print. He had cared for the appearance only mildly less than he'd cared for the man who was wearing it all.

"I'll see you tonight then, _Michael_."

Yep. Tucker Stemmings was goddamn _creepy._

He'd raised it with Harvey – naturally he had – running with the exact same thought the moment their client had been out of earshot though sadly enough not quite out of eyeshot. It had seemed impossible against mere glass and taupe but the man had actually _clashed_ with the décor. Harvey had snorted and thrown him a look, raising his eyebrow questioningly,

"Are you _scared_ of him?"

"No," Mike had shot back quickly, making the eyebrow quirk more in amusement, "I just – I don't like him that's all. He's too – ,"

"What? Old for you?"

"Actually I was _going_ to say weird."

Harvey had moved back round to his desk; the fact that he'd been smirking had not gone unnoticed,

"Oh come on Mike, give him a chance. I happen to think you'd make a very nice couple."

"You're enjoying this aren't you?"

"Maybe a little."

He'd still been smirking – it had still been annoying and in the face of what had seemed all but inevitable Mike had decided on one last push.

"I'm sorry but did I do something to you in a past life? Is that why I'm being punished right now?"

"A _past_ life?" Harvey had echoed, deigning to look up, "You don't think you've put me through enough in this one?"

Mike however had been warming to this theme,

"Did I besiege the castle? Burn down your village – ,"

"Easy Hannibal," Harvey had sighed, "The elephants are getting tired. Besides what's the problem? All you've got to do is give Tucker the papers and then you can go home and do whatever it is that fake lawyers do on a Thursday night. I wouldn't know because I'm not a fake lawyer."

Mike had stared back at him, deeply unimpressed,

"Actually we all get together and sit around a shrine with pictures of you. We light a few candles, sacrifice some goats – ,"

"Sounds like fun," Harvey had shrugged back before sliding a folder across the tabletop. Mike had scooped it up in one hand missing the moment that the conversation had changed, "The papers. Drop them off and then you're done. And try and act like it's not the last place on earth you want to be. For some reason Stemmings seems to like you."

"Well thats a shame because it definitely isn't mutual. I don't like him at all,"

"Then pretend you _do_."

"How?"

Harvey had sighed at him,

"Aren't you supposed to be the people person around here? It's simple. Smile, nod, laugh at his jokes - ,"

"Ohh," Mike had nodded, snapping his fingers, "You mean like a women who's on a date with you? Got it."

Harvey had glared back at him then pointed to the door,

"Go,"

"Fine."

"Oh and Mike?"

He'd stopped on the threshold, close to salvation; one hand on the handle, one foot out the door.

"What?"

"Look on the bright side," Harvey had reasoned, wearing a patented shit-eating grin. Mike had almost groaned at the sight of it, "If tonight goes well you could be a June bride."

He had turned and left the office in silence.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One.**

As a relative newcomer to the world of big business – no scratch that, a _total_ newcomer – one of the elements that had caught Mike by surprise was the strange parallels created by money.

The men at the top were millionaires, _multi-_ millionaires and a few more than that; they were men at the crest of the global economy and yet every last one of them yearned for the past.

The Corinthian Club summed that up perfectly; a visual representative of the paradox of fortune that had stood in New York for over one hundred years. From the outside the club had looked impressive – a stone megalith in Italian-Renaissance throwback style – but on the inside the impression had easily doubled. From the walls, to the stairs and the columns in between everything was carved in warm-hued woods and broken by paintings and glossy antiques. Had it not been for his otherwise firm grip on reality, Mike might have felt liked he'd stepped back in time; which was precisely where the paradox lay.

He found Tucker Stemmings installed at the bar, the red velvet jacket swapped out for royal blue and further embellished by Persian-style cuffs although sadly the man himself was unchanged. On seeing Mike heading towards him he instantly slid from the red leather stool and crossed the distance between them with a grin,

" _Michael_ ," he beamed, taking the associate's hands in his own and squeezing them tightly like a girl at a sleepover; since he looked half-dressed for bed it wasn't a totally random analogy, "I'm so _very_ glad that you could come."

"Uh, no problem. I mean, all I'm doing is delivering the papers but – ,"

In a vague attempt to conceal his unease Mike offered up a casual chuckle which promptly caught at the back of his throat and forced him into a volley of spluttering. Not picking up on the wild discomfort Tucker gave him a sympathetic pat,

"Oh dear, let's get you lubricated, hmm?"

It didn't help matters.

"Did you say, get me – um, what?"

Tucker held up a pink gin with lemon, sliding back onto his vacated stool. Considering that he was by no means a small man it was an impressively delicate maneuver.

"A drink my boy. So what will it be? Sex on the beach, a slippery nipple or are you more of a screaming orgasm?"

The gaze in the millionaire's eyes was intense and adding to the flush that was roasting Mike's cheeks. Tucker Stemmings was goddamn creepy. It was a sentence worth saying twice if not more.

"Uh, none of the above I'm sorry, but I'm kinda _technically_ still working so – ,"

"Nonsense," Tucker scoffed at once, waving over the barman with a flick of his fingers. 'Andre' – as his nametag said – bustled over like a well-trained poodle, "I know how these business meetings go, it's cabernet and champagne galore, all at the expense of the company of course. So the very _least_ you can do is have one teeny, tiny drink with me, hmm?"

As he spoke he patted at an empty bar stool, caressing the leather under his hand. Mike watched him do it dubiously,

"Well – ,"

"Otherwise," Tucker continued with a sigh, "I _might_ start to doubt my choice of law firm. After all, what good is a company that doesn't share my zest for life? I need people who _understand_ me Michael. Do _you_ understand me?"

Mike blinked back. Somewhere in his head he knew Harvey was screaming – _pretend –_ and taking off his messenger bag he dropped onto the bar stool,

"I'll have a soda,"

"I suppose that's a start."

"And in the meantime," Mike continued smoothly, pulling loose a blue-coloured file, "I need you to sign these papers, since – as you pointed out just a second ago – this is a business meeting, after all."

Tucker eyed him back with a smile; an unreadable expression crossing his face. Mike frowned. It seemed almost _hungry_. The arrival of his drink proved a welcome relief and no sooner had the crystal ware hit the counter then he began to gulp like a dehydrated camel. The bubbles felt cool at the back of his throat.

"Do you have a pen?"

"Huh?"

He looked up; Tucker was staring back at him, one hand outstretched.

"A pen," he repeated, "To sign the documents. I find that these things usually help."

"Oh," Mike fumbled, patting his pockets, "Uh, of course, give me a second, I'm pretty sure I've got one somewhere."

Except that he didn't which was kind of annoying since he always _usually_ carried a pen. It was what lawyers did, including the fake ones – or apparently not, as it turned out.

 _Damn._

"Not to worry," Tucker grinned, taking an easy sip of gin, "Someone will turn up with one I have no doubt and in the meantime you and I can have a chat."

Mike shut his eyes and turned back to his soda,

 _Damn. Damn._

"So tell me, what do you think of the club?"

"It's very historic,"

Tucker barked,

"You mean it's old and I agree. The place is like a goddamn museum and the same goes for the membership as well. We're a group of old men clinging onto our youth and trying to achieve it through a hundred year old club. It's lunacy really but what can you do?"

As Tucker took another long sip Mike looked up with a blink of surprise. In one short and damning statement the millionaire had summed up his own exact thoughts. _He_ had known the club was a paradox but he hadn't realised the members did too. Or maybe only one of them did.

"So why stay here?"

"Tradition, I suppose. I've belonged to this club for twenty-eight years and although I can tell you all of its faults they're _my_ faults – like children, I love them regardless. Of course _my idea_ is to ease off the rules, open it up a little, let new faces in. You see all these private clubs these days and they're different, they're _vibrant_ , they're full of _young people_. That's what I need Michael, _young_ blood."

"Like a vampire?" Mike chuckled before frowning in shock. Where the hell had _that_ come from? Fortunately Tucker simply smiled,

"Yes, in a way, they make me feel alive. Although naturally that will never happen, this club has a way of doing things and it does _not_ take kindly to talk of change. Which means – I guess, that I'm stuck like this – in limbo; neither young nor old."

 _But more old than young._ Mike almost added, stopping himself at the very last second and instead turning it into a cough. As Tucker turned to look at him he stifled it quickly back into his drink. He felt weird and giddy; he almost felt drunk. But that wasn't possible on one lone soda. Maybe it was the fact he'd skipped lunch for their meeting. That was it; hunger. No way was he drunk.

"Are you alright?" Tucker asked and as Mike looked up at him his whole head spun. He was _dizzy_ now? Yeah, definitely hunger. The millionaire was still peering in concern.

"Oh, yeah," Mike nodded, "I'm fine, just light-headed, I don't think I ate enough today."

"Harvey's got you working too hard, you need to relax, take it easy."

It took Mike a second longer than usual to realise that Tucker had one hand on his knee. When did that happen? Why was it there? He slid off his stool in sudden alarm and his head spun again and nearly betrayed him. Tucker simply continued to stare,

"Michael?"

"I'm going to get some fresh air,"

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No," Mike replied, far too quickly but trying to sound much brighter than he felt. He picked up his bag and almost fell over. Had it always been that heavy? Trailing it along the ground behind him he indicated the folder still lying on the bar, "So, why don't you take a look at the papers and I'll find a pen on my way back in."

Tucker took a sip of his drink,

"If you're sure?"

"Yeah, just – just give me five minutes,"

His heart was starting to hammer in his chest, sweat prickling at his hairline and around the collar of his shirt. What was happening to him?

"I'll be waiting," the millionaire replied, his tone sing-song but his gaze unblinking, "Five minutes Michael, then I'm coming to get you."

* * *

Okay, so I was going to be cruel and wait a few days but I had this ready so I thought why not, especially since the prologue was a shorty. Thanks to those who have left reviews - they make me smile over my cornflakes in the morning before I dejectedly trudge my way into work!

Okay, okay...you got me, I meant Frosties...my cereal habits resemble a child.


	3. Chapter Two

So first off a big, warm thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I'm really appreciative and have had some of the best reviews I've ever had for anything. So again, thankee kindly folks. I apologise for the cliffhanger on the last chapter...nah, actually I don't at all, total lies.

Anyway, I hope this proves to have been worth the wait.

* * *

 **Chapter Two.**

Given how big the Corinthian Club was – not to mention how weird he felt – it took Mike almost four minutes to get back to the main doors which were opened silently by a red-coated guard. It was the exact same man who had reluctantly let him in some thirty-seven minutes earlier and judging from his expression both times Tucker Stemmings was right about change.

Of course what probably didn't help – alongside the fact that he wasn't a member – was the fact that Mike already seemed drunk; a performance not helped by his descent of the stairs, which despite numbering only three in total might as well have been a mountain range. It took most of his fluctuating concentration not to fall and he was forced to hang white-knuckled to the rails. When he finally made the sidewalk it rushed up to meet him with surprising force and his feet scuffed awkwardly and nearly tripped him up. Instead he slammed sideways into the wall and stood for a second to reorient himself.

"Wow."

Reaching up he swiped a hand across his eyes, surprised by the sudden wave of exhaustion pulling ferociously down on his lids. His head was still spinning – elliptically it seemed – and with every passing pirouette of mind-fuckery his skull sat heavier and heavier on his neck. His back and his shoulders stung under the force. He no longer felt drunk; he felt drugged and the realisation that he was in trouble sent him groping in his pockets for his phone, locating and then dropping it at least three times before he finally managed to pluck it free. As it blinked brightly into life the light sent stars across his eyes but he shook them off as he scrolled through his contacts.

"Come on," he murmured breathlessly; the wall taking more and more of his weight. He cursed aloud as the name flashed past, his fingers working more clumsily than usual. A fresh wave of dizziness slowed him down and Mike groaned loudly and closed his eyes. He felt like he was stood on the deck of a ship watching a typhoon roll over the bow. When he opened them up again he was face to face with someone in velvet and their sudden proximity made him start.

"Oh, _Jesus_ , Tucker– you scared me,"

"Are you alright Michael?"

"It's _Mike_ ," he frowned; his voice echoing loudly inside his own head, "And no, I'm not."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" Mike snapped incredulously, "I've – ,"

He managed to stop himself just in time, pausing to take in Tucker's expression. The millionaire was watching him closely but not in concern or even confusion. He looked more like a cat watching a bird; an injured bird who could no longer fly.

"You've _what_ Michael?" Tucker pressed coolly and even through the encroaching haze Mike realised that he had to tread carefully.

"I – I think I've come down with something,"

"Well, that was quick."

The response was both fast and bizarrely dispassionate.

"Uh, yeah," Mike nodded, feigning a smile. It was becoming harder and harder to do; one by one his faculties were leaving him except for the capacity to hear his own heart which was doing the polka inside his chest, "I uh – I think I'm just going to head home,"

"What about the papers?"

Mike swallowed. _Damn._ His tongue felt heavy. Every single part of him felt heavy.

"Oh, I can have someone from the office come by and – ,"

"No, no, of course," Tucker nodded back, "Forgive me Michael, what an ass. Here I am thinking business when you are _clearly_ in bad shape."

"I'm not – ," Mike began before breaking off sharply; suddenly his head wasn't the only thing spinning. It felt like his entire _body_ was twisting. It pitched him off balance and he stumbled awkwardly. Tucker's arm appeared at his shoulder,

"Steady now boy," he whispered gruffly, leaning close enough for Mike to feel the tickle of his breath, "We don't want to draw any undue attention. I think the best thing is to get you home."

"Home?" he echoed,

"Yes, that's the plan."

" _My_ home? Because I never – never told you where I live."

The grip around his shoulders tightened,

"Come on now Michael,"

Mike's head spun again; he felt like he was facing backwards and as he stumbled he managed to pull himself free, slamming hard back into the wall. Tucker made to follow but Mike was quicker, fingers fumbling over the keys and punching three numbers into his cell. He held it up; 911. The millionaire stopped and then frowned in confusion,

"What's this? I don't understand,"

"Oh I think you do," Mike replied breathlessly. He felt like he had run a marathon; also that his head was round the wrong way, "You need to go, now."

"Michael – ,"

" _Now_ , or I will call the police and have you arrested,"

He sounded dangerous – he knew he did – but Tucker Stemmings was dangerous too and as he stepped closer Mike shuffled back surprised by the hatred he saw in the face,

"You have no proof of _anything._ "

"Except for me," Mike responded, dropping back his head until it rested on the wall; it was too heavy to hold up, he needed the help, "What do you think toxicology will show? Because I think flunitrazepam – is that about right?"

Tucker snorted,

"So what if it does? How exactly do you hope to tie it to me?"

Mike drew in a steadying breath,

"I don't _have_ to tie it to you, I just need to tie it to the club. You say the members don't like change? Well how do you think they will deal with a lawsuit, not to mention the negative press? You think tradition is going to help you? This place will be closed within a month. I will see to it _personally_."

It was a weighty speech considering his condition – slumped, dizzy and only semi-alert – but it was just passionate enough to make Tucker pause, an element of uncertainty crossing his face. He was still looking angry – furious in fact – but he wasn't as confident as he had been before.

"You don't have the guts."

"Maybe not, but I know a man who does – so do you, his name is Harvey."

As Tucker eyed him warily Mike stared back, trying to channel the flood of adrenaline and not let on how bad he felt. It was no easy task but he was _not_ going to be bested and slowly Tucker realised it too.

"Very well Michael," he offered passively, buttoning up his blue velvet jacket and turning smartly on his heel. A sleek black saloon car was waiting ready, "I trust you can make your own way home without staggering blindly into the road or ending up on the subway tracks, that _is_ , of course, if you don't pass out first," he paused by the car door to impart a last smile; it was thin and cold and didn't reach his eyes, "Have a good evening Mr. Ross – I guarantee you won't remember any of it in the morning."

Then he was gone and Mike was free to collapse; his body almost totally spent. His blood was still boiling and his heart still thumped but as the adrenaline wore off the chills set in. He still wasn't sure what exactly had happened – or when or even _why_ it had – but he knew he had come close to something unsettling and he also knew he still wasn't safe.

Glancing down at the phone in his hand he ran through his limited list of options – none of them seemed any good. In the end there was only one person to call and one person he trusted to take full control. He hit the buttons with clumsy fingers and spoke as soon as the dial tone broke,

"Harvey? I need your help."


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three.**

The travel time between Harvey's penthouse and The Club – on a good day, say maybe late-morning – was twelve minutes; or ten if you put your foot down. At seven o'clock at night it was decidedly more and that was before factoring in the whole process; Harvey first needed to grab a jacket, he needed to get his wallet and keys and he also needed to flag down a cab. Realistically it should have taken him twenty. In reality it took him barely nine.

By the time the cab pulled up at the club Harvey was already rustling a fifty,

"Stay here," he commanded, handing it across, "I don't plan on sticking around."

Of all the private clubs in New York The Corinthian was by far Harvey's least favourite. The reasons behind it were difficult to fathom but everything about it just felt stale; from the glowering edifice to the glowering membership and every element in between. He had been invited to join of course – a token of gratitude from an overwhelmed client – but had turned it down without even pausing. Nor had it been a decision he'd regretted until – quite possibly – right at that moment as the red-coated guard held up a hand and barred his way with a glare of suspicion.

"Excuse me sir, are you a member?"

Harvey shot back a withering stare,

"You know, I'm not – patterned carpets aren't my thing."

"Then I'm afraid you can't come in."

" _Relax_ ," he growled, full of danger, "I'm not here to wreck the goddamn joint. I'm just here to pick someone up."

The doorman raised an unimpressed brow,

"Someone? Like _that_ someone?" he asked with a sneer, pointing distastefully away from the steps and further along the front of the building. A figure sat slumped against the sandstone, one leg sprawled across the sidewalk, the other tucked up and supporting his head. He didn't need to be told who it was; Harvey would have recognised the cheap suit anywhere.

"Mike?" he barked; the figure didn't move, " _Mike_."

Still nothing and even though he would never have admitted it Harvey's heart was starting to hammer. He cleared the distance in three long strides before dropping down onto his haunches and roughly shaking the younger man's shoulders.

" _Hey_!"

As Mike jolted violently back into consciousness his head snapped backwards and pounded the wall eliciting a hiss of pain and not much helping the fog of confusion. It took him a second to latch onto his boss but the expression when he did was near instantaneous.

"Oh, thank god," he panted, "Harvey."

"You were expecting somebody else?"

He snorted as he said it – masking his relief – but Mike's response was eerily sobering.

"I thought maybe Stemmings had come back."

"No, just me," Harvey replied, "But about that, Mike, what happened here?"

Wearisome eyes frowned in confusion,

"He gave me something – I don't know when. I thought – I thought I was watching him. No, I _was_ – I _was_ watching him Harvey. I don't know when it happened. _When_ did he do it?"

"Hey, calm down," Harvey ordered, watching his associate become more and more frantic, "None of that's important right now."

Mike shook his head,

"You don't understood, it _is_ important."

"And why is that?"

"Because he told me by tomorrow I wouldn't remember it – I wouldn't be able to tie it to him."

Harvey frowned,

"He _told_ you that?"

This time Mike nodded; chin bouncing off his chest and just in case his head slammed back again Harvey dropped his hand behind it keen to avoid additional concussion. The truth was, up until that point, he had been unsure of what to think. Mike was clearly convinced he'd been drugged – and looking at the state of him it was hard to deny – but fingering _Tucker Stemmings_ as the culprit? Harvey couldn't see it himself. After all the man was a business phenomenon teetering on the edge of a major deal and the chances of him being willing to risk that seemed slim. Plus there the small matter of his victim; a _lawyer_ and _his_ associate to boot. Tucker Stemmings might have been brazen but surely he wasn't stupid as well?

"That's why I _have_ to remember."

"Alright, easy," Harvey soothed, dropping a hand down onto Mike's shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. As awkward footsteps shuffled in the background he unleashed his pent-up frustration on them, " _What_?"

The doorman cleared his throat uneasily,

"Sir, are you going to remove this man or do I have to call the police?"

Harvey froze; his blood was boiling. Slowly he stood up and turned around. The look on his face clearly mirrored his mindset and the white-gloved guardsman took a step back.

"The police?" Harvey echoed, "Good idea. Why don't you do that and while you're at it you can tell them how one of _your_ members drugged my associate and how _you_ let him pass out on the street."

" _Drugged_? I – I thought he was drunk."

"Yeah? Well he's not," Harvey glowered, "And the person you _should_ be calling is your attorney because when I get through with this place there won't be even so much as a god damn cocktail shaker left for the douchebags who see this as home."

From down on the floor Mike let out a giggle,

"Douchebags."

Both of the warring factions ignored him; although in the case of the uneasy doorman _faction_ was probably a little bit strong, in fact so was _warring_ , since what he was actually doing was stuttering nervously and wringing his hands,

"I – I'll go and fetch the manager – ,"

"Don't bother. Just tell him to give Harvey Specter a call. If he has any idea about power in this city, he'll know who I am _and_ what I'm capable of. In the meantime, I'm going to take my _drunk_ and get him the hell away from here."

He turned without another word and crouched back down beside his associate. Mike was flagging more than ever; head lolling like a deflating balloon. Harvey didn't know how long he would last and so putting a hand out he shook him again,

"Mike."

"Huh?"

"Time to go."

"Not sure I can," came the mumbled reply, "Legs aren't really working right now."

"Well they're going to have to."

Reaching down Harvey took Mike by the shirt; bracing himself for the increase in weight and then slowly starting to pull up from his shoulders. At first his associate seemed to do little – simply allowing himself to be hauled – but as his position gradually became more vertical he began to press his back to the wall, letting the stonework take the pressure and provide him with a one hundred-year old crutch. Once he was finally at eye-level again Harvey could give him a proper appraisal.

"You look like shit."

"Which is funny because that's exactly how I feel – Harvey?"

"What?"

"I'm facing backwards."

"No you're not Mike."

"Feels like I am – my legs feel like they're on back to front."

Despite his better judgement Harvey glanced down, unsurprised to see Mike's feet pointing out normally. Whatever the drugs were doing to him they had obviously decided to do it in style and raising a brow in silent assessment Harvey nodded and pulled him along,

"Okay, come on Sleeping Beauty,"

Mike snorted wearily,

"Which I guess makes you my Prince Charm – wait, what?"

Positioning himself under Mike's shoulder, Harvey rolled his eyes and sighed,

"It's reassuring to know that getting pumped with drugs _doesn't_ make you hit on me. I would really hate for this to get weird."

Mike grimaced,

"I think I might be sick."

"You do, I'm dropping you right back on the floor."

With Harvey bracing most of his weight, Mike slowly started moving forwards. His feet scuffed loudly across the sidewalk; each one feeling like a ten ton weight and landing with much the same effect. Within a few steps he was panting heavily and Harvey could feel his body trembling like a marathon runner twenty miles in. It was clearly a herculean effort and as a result their progress was unenviable – a fact which Mike evidently felt keenly.

"I'm sorry Harvey," he mumbled sadly, the three words sapping yet more of his strength and lancing a hot stab of guilt through his boss.

"Don't be Mike," he grunted, "It's not your fault."

"It's not yours either."

"I don't recall saying it was,"

"No," Mike panted, "But I know you, remember? You're telling me you're not blaming yourself?"

Harvey sighed; his silence telling. The truth was he _did_ blame himself – perhaps not fully, but partly at least. After all Mike had said that Tucker was creepy and even worse he'd seen it for himself; the way the businessman kept his attentions on the associate; the suggestive sounding sneer to his tone. Nothing had pointed directly at attempted date rape – because they weren't in a god damn high-school movie – but at the same time the warning signs of _something_ had been there and instead of dealing with them Harvey had just laughed and packed Mike off; headfirst into danger.

"Harvey?"

"Fine," he nodded, "You win. But how about we agree that _neither_ of us is to blame and we put it all on that bastard Stemmings?"

"I think I can make my peace with that."

"Good."

The next few steps they completed in silence; each man focused on their part of the task. For Harvey that meant keeping Mike upright, maintaining a steady and unhurried pace and supporting the increasingly trembling frame. His associate might have been teenage-runt skinny but that didn't mean he wanted to carry him; particularly not in the middle of New York, outside a prestigious social club and at an eye-wateringly early time to look drunk. Seeing their predicament the taxi rolled closer, blocking a hydrant and earning a honk – both of which he ignored resolutely. Harvey could have hugged him in gratitude.

"Come on Mike, almost there."

The younger man nodded but chose not to speak; his focus centered on the issue at hand and in particular the art of moving his legs. He knew that Harvey was still largely supporting him but at some point he had lost all feeling in his side. He felt like he was trapped in a dream-world; sitting movie-style in the back of his head and watching it happen with popcorn and soda.

Hmmm. _Soda._ Maybe not.

As they drew in alongside the taxi a flash of red blitzed past his eye line, clicking open the cab's back door and standing off to let them in. Harvey eyed the doorman darkly, offering him only the curtest of nods. The liveried lackey was trying to be helpful but it was far too little and too late for redemption. His card was marked and so was the club's.

If dragging Mike along the sidewalk had seemed difficult then getting him into the cab proved vaguely impossible given that he was as steady as a newborn lamb. The plan – at first – had been to lower him in; to lever his associate onto the fabric and allow him to wriggle and make himself comfy. The closer they got to enacting it however the more obvious it became that Mike wouldn't make it. His legs were failing him, his arms were too and in the end Harvey had to back him into it; guiding his head safely under the doorframe and then letting gravity take care of the rest.

"Harvey, what are you – ?" Mike didn't finish; his sentence cut off as his back hit the seats and promptly drove the air from his lungs, "Hey – ,"

Climbing in after him Harvey shoved his feet from the upholstery, clearing a space for himself and then grunting as he pulled his associate upright. Mike complied by slumping limply against the window; his eyes shutting and his face screwing up as his world turned on its axis once more.

"Whoa."

When he opened them again a bespectacled cab driver was staring back at him – twisted in his seat, one hand on the wheel. His expression was one of concern and confusion and given the unfolding scene Mike couldn't blame him.

"If it helps I feel much worse than I look."

Harvey ignored them as he fished out his wallet.

"Get us back to my place in under ten minutes and I'll add another fifty on top of your fare."

He waved a bill across the seats and watched as the driver's suspicious eyes widened. Clearly he was becoming a lucrative client and not wishing to disappoint his new found cash-cow the small man nodded and pocketed the money.

"I can do it in eight and a half."

"So do it," shrugged Harvey turning to Mike and then lurching as the driver spun out into traffic. The click of the hazards still echoed round the cab although it was temporarily drowned out by the sound of fierce honking. As Mike slung across the seats like a rag doll Harvey caught him and kept him steady, only pushing him back into place once they were travelling in a straight line again.

"That – ," Mike started, pausing to a take a steadying breath; for a second it looked like he was going to throw up, "Was no fun. _None_. Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you home."

Mike snorted derisively,

"That's what Stemmings said – only he doesn't know where I live. That's how I knew – _when_ I knew."

Harvey watched him silently; taking in the lolling head and the desperate eyelids fighting to stay up. He wasn't drunk or high or anything else self-induced or idiotic; someone had physically done this _to_ him. _Mike_. _His_ associate. Every drop of Harvey's blood bubbled with anger. He wanted to punch something – he _needed_ to punch something – and the only target that would satisfy his anger was the moustache-twirling villain of the piece; Tucker Stemmings. The man was going to get his ass handed to him.

"We're not going to your place, we're going to mine, it's closer – and cleaner," he got no response, "Mike?"

"Huh?"

As the head jerked upright in sudden confusion Harvey put a hand on his shoulder, keeping the pressure both even and gentle. It took a second for Mike to center himself but when he did it was with a long low groan of frustration. Harvey's tone was as steady as his gesture,

"Stay awake,"

"I'm trying."

"Then try _harder_ ," he pressed, "I need you stay with me for a little bit longer. _Then_ you can sleep. You think you can do that?"

Mike stared back at him dubiously; blinking but at the same time clearly not seeing. The words took a couple of seconds to sink in but eventually he nodded – once, heavily – and pushed himself back against the seats,

"Okay, I'm up."

Harvey smiled,

"Good. Now, tell me what you remember."

"About tonight?"

" _No_ , about your confirmation – _yes_ Mike, about tonight."

The younger man frowned through bleary confusion,

"Hey, _drugged h_ ere, remember?"

" _I_ remember," Harvey retorted, relieved by the resurgence of their usual banter; after all if Mike was aware enough to sound sarcastic then maybe things weren't as bad as they looked, "Now you need to do the same. _What happened_?"

Settling himself against the upholstery and dropping his head back to rest on the shelf, Mike blew out a long tired breath, trying to corral his flyaway memories. The evening's events were caught in a whirlpool; whipping around in a fast-flowing jumble. It took most of his concentration to simply slot them back into place and even when he did it wasn't totally coherent,

"Stemmings was at the bar," he began, slowly as if he doubted himself; for a man whose brain was usually faultless it was a strange and oddly alarming sensation. Harvey stared back at him, letting him ease through it, "He wanted me to have a drink, but I said I couldn't – I was working. He thought I was brushing him off. He threatened to leave the firm so I said I'd have a soda and I gave him the papers – _shit_."

"What?"

"I – I think I forgot them – the papers – I think I left them back at the club,"

Sitting bolt upright Mike began searching; pawing clumsily through his bag and groping around on the seats for his folder.

" _Shit, shit – ,"_

"Mike," Harvey ordered both steady and authoritative, "Screw the papers. The papers don't matter."

"But, the deal – ,"

"The deal doesn't matter either. Just tell me what happened with Stemmings."

At some point in the intervening seconds the older man had pressed a hand to his shoulder blade, pushing him gently back into place. The warmth from his palm seeped in through Mike's shirt and gave him something real to focus on as his vision and his universe once again cartwheeled.

"I forgot my pen," he mumbled sadly. Harvey blinked,

"Okay, so what?"

"So we had to wait until someone showed up with one," he paused briefly to scrub at his eyes; god they were itchy and heavy and _painful_ , "If I'd had a pen then Stemmings could have signed the papers and I could've been out of there. I _always_ have a pen Harvey. Why didn't I have a pen?"

"For the same reason you never remember your god damn phone. Because you're human Mike, you make mistakes."

"What and you don't?"

Harvey smirked,

"No, but I thought we decided I was Batman."

"Batman makes mistakes all the time – he let Liam Neeson burn down Wayne Manor."

"Mike," Harvey cut in smoothly, "Stemmings. What happened _after_ you forgot the pen?"

"We talked about the club. How it was never going to change. He said he wanted more young blood – he put his hand on my knee," Mike shook his head, "I don't – I don't remember when – ,"

He sounded confused rather than disturbed but Harvey's fists clenched tight all the same.

"Okay," he encouraged, more evenly than he felt, "Then what?"

"I started feeling weird – like I wasn't there. I knew – I _thought_ – I don't know. I left Stemmings to sign the papers and I went outside to get some air. I tried to call you but my stupid fingers wouldn't work," Mike peered down at them, flexing them slowly, "Then the next thing I know Stemmings was there saying I didn't look so good – saying he would take me home only – ,"

"Only he doesn't know where you live."

Mike nodded,

"Yeah,"

"Son of a bitch."

As his boss hissed out a pent up expletive the cab driver flinched and glanced up at the mirror. To anyone else he might have protested but given the two fifties nestled in his pocket he wisely decided to let the cuss fly. Mike rubbed his eyes again,

"Harvey, it's fine."

"No, it isn't."

"I mean _I'm_ fine and do you want to hear the rest of this or not, because if you do you're going to have to calm down."

Even semi-conscious Mike still knew how to make his point and caught half-way between frustration and disbelief Harvey took a breath and stilled his anger.

"I'm calm."

"Really?"

"No, but this is as calm as I'm going to get. Carry on Mike."

He still kept his fists clenched; he had a feeling he would need to. Mike's head bobbed heavily but he rode out the weariness,

"I threatened to call the police – it didn't faze him. He knew they would never make it stick. So I threatened the club – told him I would shut it down,"

Harvey quirked an impressed looking brow,

"He buy it?"

"No," Mike shook his head, "Which is why I told him _you_ would do it. _That_ he believed. "

Harvey snorted back at him; half-pissed, half-tickled,

"He knows I will. It's why he hired me – a decision which is going to come back to bite him on his velvet-clad ass I might add."

Mike chuckled despite himself,

"Velvet ass."

As the cab slung round a corner with near wheel-screeching enthusiasm his head slipped off the back of the rest and bumped up against the window. The glass was bitingly cold against his forehead but he quite liked the shiver that ran across his shoulders and he let his eyes close as he leant himself into it. Somewhere in the background Harvey was still talking to him,

"That it?"

"Pretty much," he nodded; sounding groggy even to his own ears, but no longer able to make himself care, "Then he told me the whole thing about not being able to remember it in the morning – and getting myself killed on subway tracks."

"What?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm not taking the subway. We're in a cab."

"Mike, stay awake."

"I'm fine."

"No you're not," Harvey countered; he sounded far away, "You're not making sense."

"Maybe _you're_ not making sense," Mike frowned, full of sleepy indignation but tailing off as his tongue got in the way of speaking. Was there any part of him _not_ being dragged down into oblivion? He vaguely registered his name being called – softly at first, then louder and sharper. It didn't have any effect on him; the darkness crept in and carried him with it.

* * *

Ta-da! A longer instalment too I hope you noticed. I was actually just going to go to bed after the longest, busiest and most mental weekend of work I've had in nine years in my job, but I got so many nice reviews and such a lovely one a little bit earlier that I decided to postpone sleep for another hour and get this sorted. It also explains any mistakes, errors etc. I missed. Blame my fatigue!

I did 'um' and 'ah' a bit about Ray vs. a cab driver, but I figured the poor guy had to have down-time occasionally and I quite like inventing quirky little bit characters, so there you have it if anyone's wondering, which you're probably not so...I'm going to go to bed now...


	5. Chapter Four

Here you are my lovely peoples, my bi-nightly update (as it seems to have become). I was going to leave it longer but work starts again tomorrow (I had one day off, what was really even the point) so I just decided to get on and post it. As ever please forgive the glaring mistakes.

We're about halfway through now - this won't drag on forever and then fade unfinished into oblivion, I promise. I'm actually already working on my next one but it's...well, a little different let's just say. Anyway, enough of that. As ever thank you for the reviews, the encouragement means a lot.

Enjoy.

* * *

 **Chapter Four.**

"Mike – damn it. _Mike_ come on."

He woke to the sensation of his face being pawed at; fingers pulling down his eyelids and cupping his cheeks between hot palms. Instinctively he pulled away from them eliciting a familiar sigh from above.

"Harvey?"

"I thought I told you to stay awake,"

"Huh?" Mike frowned, "What are you – I was."

It was a futile argument even by his standards, although as Harvey snorted derisively he also took his hands away,

"Sure you were Mike, you were full of life."

As his associate blinked back into consciousness Harvey watched him silently; taking in the hot pink cheeks and the cloudy glaze that sat over his eyes. It took Mike almost three grueling seconds to simply lift his head off the seat although no sooner was he vaguely upright than Harvey turned and opened the door, letting in a blast of cold air and sending Mike's body into spasms of shock.

"Ah – ,"

Harvey ignored him pointedly, pulling the folds of his coat in closer and stepping away out into the dark. As the door slammed behind him again the taxi cab rocked and Mike glanced up at the driver in confusion,

"We're here?"

The smaller man beamed back with pride,

"Eight minutes, personal best."

Mike continued to stare at him blankly, absently trying to place the accent. For reasons unknown he settled on Lebanon before starting to turn the word in his head. Lebanon. Abaddon. That was the Hebrew term for a bottomless pit and vaguely synonymous with the realm of the dead, which – given the way he felt – could easily have been where the taxi had taken them. Fortunately as Harvey opened his door the street lights of New York shone in on him instead. A little more _un_ fortunately he half fell out into them and for the third time in half an hour Harvey caught him around the shoulders, pushing him firmly back against the seats and letting out a long suffering sigh,

"Feet first, remember?"

Mike nodded,

"Feet first."

Keeping a guiding hand on his elbow Harvey let his associate do the hard work; levering his body away from the seats and forcing himself upright with a grunt of exertion. The door of the taxi proved a solid support as did Harvey's favourite white jersey which Mike climbed like a cotton-based ladder, pulling steadily hand over hand. The older man barely even flinched until finally the blue eyes were level with his,

"When you're feeling better, the first thing you're doing is getting this shirt pressed."

Frowning mildly Mike patted at the wrinkles, trying to smooth them out with his palm,

"There,"

"Much worse," Harvey deadpanned, catching the wrist as it went in for another half-hearted attempt and using it to spin him round to the curb. As he went to swing shut the door the driver thrust a business card at him,

"If you ever need to get somewhere quickly, just call Mehmet, the best in the city."

Harvey blinked back at him, polite but sardonic. In his head he was running through their list of near misses and silently counting the honks they'd received. He stopped when he ran out of available fingers and simply nodded,

"Sure, you got it."

Mehmet tapped the brim of his glasses in salute,

"Peace be with you my friend,"

That was it. The next thing Harvey knew the door had swung shut and Mehmet was off again, barely taking the trouble to look before pulling out and nearly side-swiping a Lexus. Harvey winced. Perhaps _he_ should have been the one giving out cards since judging from the way the little man drove it was only a matter of time before somebody took him to court; eight minute cross-town journeys or not.

"Uh, Harvey?" Mike began from somewhere beside him, "Are you sure about – about my body being the right way? Because it's doing that whole weird twisting thing again and – ,"

"You're fine Mike, come on, let's go."

They set off together as they had at the club; with Harvey doing the work of supporting and Mike focused solely on keeping the pace. He was walking – just – he could _feel_ that he was but at the same time it was being controlled _without_ him, from some long-dormant part of his brain. He felt a little like an airline pilot, kicking back to catch some sleep and leaving the nuts and bolts to the system. The plane was still flying but he wasn't doing it. As his head became too heavy to support he let it drop down onto his chest. Harvey watched him do it with a grimace,

"Nearly there Mike."

"That's what you keep saying,"

"You calling me a liar?"

"No," Mike frowned, "I'm _saying_ you're bullshitting,"

"That's the same thing."

"Fine, you're a liar. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic," Harvey grunted absently as the overhead lighting suddenly changed. Looking up Mike realised they were crossing the lobby; Harvey's doorman scurrying ahead and calling the elevator with three frantic clicks. By the time they had made it the twenty or so steps it was waiting patiently to carry them upwards. Harvey offered his thanks with a nod, the gesture more genuine than it had been at the club. The difference – of course – was that _his_ doorman liked Mike; they'd once spent ten minutes discussing Franz Kafka not to mention the fantasy football talk. He guessed that it was all part of Mike's charm; that he found it so easy to get along with strangers. Evidently that also included pervert businessman and as his thoughts turned back to Tucker Stemmings the lawyer felt his mood decline.

Mike took the elevator ride silently, leaning heavily against the wall and channeling his weight down onto the rail. In the glare of the spotlights the circles around his eyes looked stark, as if he'd been up for a thousand years rather than a little under fifteen hours. Rip Van Winkle in reverse.

As the elevator slid to a halt Harvey reached out and steadied Mike at the elbow, guiding him forward towards the doors and then marching him out the second they opened. In his free hand he was already swinging his keys and before Mike even had time to blink he was standing dazed in Harvey's hallway with the twinkling vista of New York city staring back at him through the full-length glass. Even half-conscious the view was amazing, not that he was given much time to admire it.

It was somewhere between the kitchen and the living room that a bolt of realisation hit; hard on the head and from out of the blue. By the time he managed to put it to words they were already standing beside the couch and by the time they managed to enter existence he was fully surrounded by hand-worked leather and wondering when he'd even sat down,

"Harvey," he started, knitting his brow. God the cushions felt _good_ at his back, taking the weight of his tired hunched shoulders and letting him sink back into their fold, "It was Andre."

Above him Harvey blinked,

"Giant or seal?"

"The bartender."

"What?"

Mike dropped his head back and shut his eyes. _Bliss._

"Stemmings called over a bartender – Andre. I told you I was watching Stemmings the whole time and I was, but what I _wasn't_ doing – ,"

"Was watching Andre," Harvey finished, not sure how much more coherence he could expect. Mike was suddenly fading fast. He just about managed to nod his head,

"Yep."

"Which explains why Stemmings was so sure you couldn't pin it on him – he never even touched the drugs. He gave the order to somebody else."

"Andre,"

"Andre," Harvey echoed flatly, before suddenly shaking his head with a snort, "Wow. Do you even realise how much of a pain in the ass you are?"

Blue eyes shot open in sudden confusion,

"Huh? Wait, what did _I_ do?"

"What did you do? You got yourself drugged – that's what. _Then_ you scared off the son of a bitch that did it to you and _now_ here you are working through all the god damn details. You know a reasonable person would have just passed out by now?"

"You told me not to," Mike replied, his eyes sliding shut again as the banter swirled round him. It was oddly comforting – a Harvey based lullaby – and in their world what passed for relief, as well as pride and any other number of things. Still, it meant that Harvey cared and knowing it Mike slid himself further down, laying his head against the armrest and clumsily kicking off his shoes. That felt good – so _so_ good. As something settled around his shoulders Mike became aware of the arrival of a blanket, followed by light flapping as Harvey vaguely tucked him in. That was new, but not entirely unwelcome.

"I know I did," he responded gruffly, "And you did good Mike,"

"So _now_ I can sleep?"

"Now you can sleep."

"What about Andre and Stemmings and the papers?"

He sounded groggy; he sounded drunk.

"I'll fix it – you don't have to worry."

After that it didn't take Mike long to slip under – twenty maybe thirty seconds – but as Harvey poured himself a scotch his associate's breathing pattern slowed and his expression finally stopped looking so pinched. In the silence the older man took a long breath and sat down slowly on the armchair opposite. His emotions were abnormally out of sync; a mix of fury, worry and compassion all at once but clustered around a rock solid point. Tucker Stemmings was quite literally a dead man, the question was just how to achieve it.

Downing the rest of his scotch in one gulp Harvey pulled his laptop closer, shutting the file he'd been working on earlier when his lazy evening had been shattered by Mike's call.

 _"_ _Harvey? I need your help."_

 _"_ _Why? What did you do?"_

 _"_ _Stemmings – I – I had a drink and – ,"_

Harvey had snorted,

 _"_ _Are you drunk dialing me?"_

 _"_ _No, Harvey listen – ,"_

 _"_ _Because if you are, you're absolutely fired."_

 _"_ _Harvey – ,"_

 _"_ _What?"_

 _"_ _He put something in my drink."_

That had been the moment his smile had vanished; a shiver rippling over his skin. He'd been out of the door not one minute later and had flagged down Mehmet thirty seconds after that. Back then he had been working on concern and confusion but now he was working on flat out revenge.

His plan of action was formed in seconds and he knew exactly where it should start; Andre the bartender. That poor bastard. He was never going to see it coming.


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five.**

The most interesting fact about Andre Bettencourt – a Brazilian native not to mention sleazy bartender – was not, as it turned out, his side-line in date-rape but instead where he lived; or rather, where he didn't.

Usually – as often happens when people are new and looking to belong – immigrants clustered in certain areas, which for Brazilians meant Astoria or West 46th. It was somewhere near these parts of town that Harvey had expected to find his bartender; living in some shabby tenement with students and wannabes and passing druggies cheerfully dropping off knockout drugs. Instead he found him right near The Corinthian; in a beautiful brownstone apartment building, less than a three minute saunter to work and with views of Gramercy Park from the bedroom.

The surprise had only fuelled his anger and it was why – at seven o'clock sharp that morning – Donna had taken over puppy-sitting duties and also why – at seven twenty-three – Harvey had been leaning on Bettencourt's buzzer.

At seven twenty-four, Bettencourt answered him.

"Okay, okay – _god_ – what do you _want_?"

Harvey kept his own tone light,

"Mr. Bettencourt? My name is Harvey Specter, I'm Tucker Stemmings' lawyer. I'd like to speak to you about your business arrangement."

A long and uncertain silence followed,

"Stemmings?"

"That's right," Harvey didn't hesitate, "You saw him last night at The Corinthian Club."

"Did you – did you say you were _his_ lawyer? You're not here – not here about – ,"

Harvey relished the tremble in the tone; his brain delighting in making him sweat,

"I'm just here to clear up the outstanding payments."

Another pause; partly to decipher the meaning and partly to track down the key turn of phrase.

"Payments?"

Harvey smirked. _That's a boy._

"Yes,"

"As in – ," the crackled voice lowered an octave in tone but strangely not at all in volume, " – as in _money_?"

"The nature of payment is still up for discussion, but I'd rather talk through your options in person instead of sharing Mr. Stemmings' interests with the whole of Manhattan."

"Oh, uh, sure, sure," Andre replied, clearly scrambling to do _something_ ; make himself decent, dispose of more drugs. Finally the buzzer sounded, "Come on up, second floor."

Harvey pushed the door,

"I know."

Inside the building gave little away; it was neat and historic and bright and airy, with original tiles and an old wooden staircase. There were several apartments that he could tell and all of them looked smart and well-kept which was hardly surprising given where they were. Real estate with prime views of Gramercy didn't come onto the market too often and when they did they were accompanied by zeroes; the sort that a bartender's wage couldn't cover. This, early on, had led Harvey to a conclusion; Andre Bettencourt was someone's kept-man. The only real surprise after that had been finding out that Tucker Stemmings _wasn't_ the keeper. Donna in particular had been unconvinced,

 _"_ _What do you mean? It has to be Stemmings."_

 _"_ _Well, I'm telling you it's not."_

 _"_ _But Stemmings' is the reason that son of a bitch is going around drugging innocent people. Who else is going to hook him up with a park side apartment?"_ Harvey had looked back at her in amusement, _"_ _What? I have to blow off steam somehow considering you won't let me go over there and put a Louboutin up his ass."_

Harvey had simply smiled some more,

 _"_ _Tell you what,"_ he had offered, generously, _"When I'm done I'll let you have full rein – you want to deliver a dozen black roses or release a plague of locusts through his window, go right ahead. I'm not going to stop you."_

Donna had sighed but her face had stayed tight; like a fashion-conscious designer-brand pitbull and taking her duties just as seriously. Bending down over the sleeping associate she had gently adjusted the blankets around him.

 _"_ _Moron,"_ she'd commiserated softly. Then she'd turned back with a mother's rage, _"Promise me you'll get him Harvey."_

 _"_ _I'll get him."_

He wasn't about to let her down – he wasn't about to let Mike down either.

As Harvey hit the second floor a door somewhere near him unlatched and a tanned, bald-head emerged into the hallway. On seeing his visitor a flash of white followed, accompanied by a laugh of delight and suddenly Andre Bettencourt was in front of him, pumping his hand up and down with enthusiasm and dressed in only a white shirt and briefs.

"Mr. Specter,"

"Mr. Bettencourt,"

"Andre," he replied, "Harvey you said? Please, come on in. Mi casa, su casa and all that jazz."

Harvey followed – his gaze staying icy – as Andre sashayed into the kitchen. The apartment around them was bright and clean but cluttered with furniture that didn't match its age; all clunky, white and interspersed with the sort of garish canvases that the uninitiated mistook for modern art. Andre might not have paid for a single piece of it but Harvey was confident the decisions had been his. Evidently bad choices were an ongoing hazard.

"Coffee?"

"I'm good, besides, I like my drink to have more of a kick,"

Andre's head popped over the breakfast counter, his thick black eyebrows knitting together,

"Something stronger? Oh you're definitely my kind of lawyer. Well, I can get you whatever you want – I am a bartender after all," disappearing from view again he started banging around in cupboards, clinking bottles of liquor together, "Alright, we have tequila, rum, brandy, vodka, curacao – huh – what's that doing there? Neat or a mixer, the choice is yours."

Moving round to the door of the kitchen Harvey folded his arms across his chest,

"Tell you what, why don't you make me something special?"

Andre spun round from where he was crouched, an eyebrow raising in sudden intrigue,

"Special, huh? Well, what do you like?"

"Soda with a dash of sedative," Andre's expression faltered then failed. The colour drained from his cheeks in an instant and his mouth flapped up and down in horror. No words came out. No words were needed. Harvey stepped closer, "Or do you only drug people who _don't_ see it coming?"

"Wha – I – I don't – ,"

" _Don't_ lie to me you son of a bitch!" Harvey suddenly exploded; his bellow echoing round the room. Andre jumped and fell over backwards, landing awkwardly half-in the cupboard. The alcohol bottles jangled at his back but Harvey couldn't have cared less for his plight, "How much did he pay you?"

"What? Who?"

"Tucker god damn Stemmings, that's who! How much did he pay you to drug my associate?"

As the pieces of the puzzle finally slotted into place Andre's face moved through several expressions. The first of these expressions was fearfulness; caused by the clench-fisted lawyer in front of him. The second was heart-stopping realisation; he had drugged a freaking _lawyer_ – a lawyer whose boss just happened to be crazy. The third however was outright defiance,

"Nothing."

"Bullshit."

As Harvey stepped in even closer Andre backed up in a desperate scrabble,

"Mr. Stemmings and I – ,"

"Are both _finished_."

"What?"

"You heard me," Harvey continued, his voice low and his eyes unblinking, "I'll grant you, Stemmings is going to be harder to catch, but you? He'll throw you under the bus in a minute and you will lose _everything_ – your fancy apartment, your job, your _freedom_. Every. Single. Last. Thing. Got it?"

Andre took a steadying breath,

"Are you threatening me Mr. Specter?"

"I'm making you a god damn promise."

"So where's your evidence?"

Harvey laughed mirthlessly,

"My evidence? I don't think you understand. I don't _need_ evidence to bury you, I just need to make a phone call."

Andre's eyes narrowed,

"You're bluffing."

"I'm not. You see I've looked in to you Mr. Bettencourt," turning Harvey sauntered away again, his entire demeanor uneasily casual and luring Andre back into the hall. The smaller man eyed his visitor carefully as Harvey crossed back over to the door and turned the key in the lock with a click. Pulling it out again he dropped it in his pocket and glanced up just in time to see Andre's legs tremble. Harvey swallowed down a smile, "I know that you came here two years ago and within two weeks you were married to an American girl – kind of pretty in a bookish way I guess, not my type but what can I say – a struggling student, although, I say _struggling_ , she wasn't for long, because not three days after you married her she started making deposits into her bank – _sizeable_ deposits. I mean, sure, she did her best – she even spread them across her accounts – but they were all from you. Payments for your phony marriage."

Andre's breathing had sped up a notch but he kept his voice surprisingly even,

"You can't prove any of that."

"Can't I?" Harvey spread his hands out wide, "Because I don't see her here right now, or any evidence of her living here. In fact, you two haven't lived together for eighteen months – social media can tell you a lot, you might want to adjust your privacy filters. But you know what, you're right, I _can't_ prove it. I don't have to, immigration will do that for me, _if_ the District Attorney doesn't beat them to it and slap you with criminal charges. I'm guessing five to ten but it could be more if this isn't your first time – and I don't believe it is for a second."

" _Jail_?!" Andre physically yelped, "But – but I never – he said it was only ever – ,"

"Who said? Stemmings?"

Andre nodded miserably, letting out a sigh and grasping at his head. For a minute Harvey wondered if he might try to start pulling out imaginary strands of hair but he let them flop down again in sheer frustration.

"If I tell you – what – what will happen?"

Harvey glowered back at him unflinching,

"That depends on _what_ you tell me. I will go after you if I have to, but trust me when I say you're small fry here. I want the big fish and if you help me get him then you have my word I will go easy on you – which is a hell of lot more than you deserve. "

For a second Andre considered the bargain, silently weighing it up in his head. His options were rapidly diminishing in front of him and the truth was he suspected that Harvey was right; Tucker Stemmings would not try to save him, not if it meant incriminating himself. The fuming but otherwise slick lawyer in front of him had offered the only promise of salvation and _if_ the shit was about to hit the fan then he needed to cling on to any lifeline he could. He might not have outright trusted Harvey but he absolutely trusted him to follow through on his threats and slowly, ever so slowly, he nodded.

"Fine, I'll tell you everything – but first you should know, last night was – different."

Harvey blinked, caught unawares,

"Different?" he echoed, "Different _how_?"

Andre studied the carpet intensely. It was bright red – yet another poor choice.

"Last night was the first time that I – I wasn't _okay_ with it."

"Why?"

"The guy – ,"

"Mike," Harvey growled, watching as Andre looked up in bewilderment, "His name is _Mike_."

"Okay. _Mike_ wasn't the normal kind – I mean, when Stemmings brings a guy to the bar they're usually on, I guess, a _date_. The guys _like_ Stemmings, or, they pretend to at least. But the – ," he sighed, " _Mike_ , was there on business. That's what he told Stemmings. Business. He didn't even _want_ a drink, Stemmings had to threaten him into it. That was why I didn't like it. With the others you could see that the night was maybe going there – what more harm could drugging them do?" Harvey snorted but Andre ignored him, "But last night? No. That was different."

"You still god damn did it,"

"I wanted the money," Andre shrugged and his mercurial indifference briefly seemed impressive. If nothing else the guy had balls – no integrity and absolutely no taste, but balls of steel nevertheless. Harvey repeated his earlier question, barely forcing the words through his teeth,

"How much did he pay you?"

"Two thousand."

He blinked,

" _Two thousand dollars_?"

"Double or nothing," Andre answered; he was still eschewing full 'I-don't-give-a-crap,' but the way he kept glancing down at his toes told Harvey that guilt was mixed in somewhere, buried maybe – like he should have been – but there at the bottom, which he guessed was a start, "He obviously knew your guy wouldn't go for it so he decided to make it a sure fire thing."

"Well it wasn't," Harvey growled before moving back to deal with the intricacies, "Where do you get the drugs? Does Stemmings give them to you?"

"No, I have – friends, Stemmings never touches them. He never even _says_ the word. He's not crazy."

"But evidently you are."

Andre shrugged again, renewed with defiance,

"You don't know what it was like growing up. We never had anything, my brothers and sisters and I. We shared a bed, we shared clothes, toys, _everything_. So if I see a way to make money I take it."

As Harvey dove in to his inner pocket Andre jumped in sudden alarm clearly expecting a gun or a knife and breathing in relief when a pen came out,

"Save your excuses for someone who gives a shit," Harvey informed him, unscrewing the cap, "Because what you're going to do now is write down everything you just told me and all the other parts you missed out – _when_ Stemmings first asked you, how many times, how he tells you who to drug. I want all of it. You hear me?"

Andre swallowed, his complexion paling,

"But – but that's – a _confession_."

"You'd rather write it in rhyming verse?"

"I don't want to write it at all," Andre barked, folding his arms across his chest and adopting the look of a petulant teenager, "You can't make me."

"The hell I can," Harvey started darkly and again Andre scrabbled backwards, "You think me hitting you is the least of your worries? Because I've got a better incentive than that. You see I know who pays for this apartment. Walter Britton – a former client of mine and the man who not three years ago offered to sponsor my membership at the club. Why would he do that? See, he owes me. I got him out of one hell of a bad deal and that pretty fortune he's sitting on? It wouldn't be _half_ of what it is today without me. So when I tell him what his little _pet_ has been doing and ask him to kick you out on your ass, he'll do it – he'll do in a heartbeat _and_ have you fired. So write it, don't write it, that's your choice. Just remember what's at stake."

For a second Andre didn't move, then gradually he reached out and swiped away the pen. His eyes darted briefly towards the door as if he were planning a dramatic escape but Harvey smiled and patted his pocket where the key still sat alongside his hip.

"The quicker you do it," he offered smoothly, "The quicker this will all be over."

Andre grabbed a sheet of paper and reluctantly began to write.

* * *

The game is afoot! Ha, ha (I'm sleep deprived and slightly loopy, this is what you get) Anyway, I won't be able to post on Saturday so I'm afraid you'll have to hold on until Sunday for the next chapter, but it's coming (along with my next ONE day off). Thank you as always for the reviews, I heart them entirely!


	7. Chapter Six

So here we are folks – Sunday, as promised. I realised as I was reading this through that I haven't set any timeframe on when this story actually takes place. This installment clears that up I guess, based on who is at what stage of promotion. I'm going to say this is late season 2 – I think. Pre-Rachel but post-Hardman. The others get a turn in this one too, so let's welcome in Louis and Jessica. This one also gets a tiny bit business-y. I felt it was the best way to go rather than just some big brawling showdown. It felt (to me, I hope to you as well) that it would 'fit' in the show better. But hey, what do I know, this is my one day off this week and I'm super drowsy which will explain any mistakes!

Anyway, as always, I hope you enjoy it. Ramble over!

* * *

 **Chapter Six.**

For Louis the morning had been a puzzle.

From the moment he had set foot through the doors something, somewhere had just been _off._

It had taken nearly two circuits to fathom and he had nearly, _nearly_ called in Jessica but suddenly the answer had come a-calling; Donna was away from her desk and not just away _getting-coffee_ away but actually, physically, _not in_ away.

The same had also been true of Harvey which was why the sight of a man in his office – a man in a green velvet jacket no less – had just about topped off his confusion. Harvey Specter had missed a meeting? The sounds of opportunity rang loud in his head as did his imaginings of Jessica's gratitude.

 _"_ _Thank you Louis, for making sure we didn't lose a client today. Named partnership is yours along with my eternal admiration."_

It sounded good, it would look even better and within a second he had made his choice. Stepping towards the office door he cleared his throat and pulled his suit jacket in. He was about to get a leg-up on Harvey. No, that sounded wrong – way too suggestive. He was about to get a leg _over_ Harvey. There, much better and stepping forward he extended a hand,

"Hello, Louis Litt, Senior Partner. Can I help you?"

* * *

By the time Harvey stepped off the elevator he was not a great deal later for work than usual, which – given that he had stopped to threaten the daylights out of a bartender, have him write a full sworn statement _and_ deal with other issues besides – retrospectively was pretty good going. In fact he was feeling almost cheerful as he rounded the corner of Donna's empty desk and walked headfirst into a grey-suited figure.

"Louis," he growled as the smaller man bounced right off his chest, "What are you doing coming out of my office?"

Taking a moment to readjust his apparel the financial expert issued a frown; equal parts _excuse-me_ and _just-wait-and-see_. Both made Harvey feel uneasy.

"Louis – ,"

"If I were you Harvey, I'd actually be thanking me."

" _Thanking you_?" he echoed, his expression darkening. Every word of his ensuing question was punctuated forcefully, "What did you do?"

"Uh, I only kept your important new client busy while you were off shirking your responsibilities."

Harvey blinked – once, twice then again – his mind stalling over the first half of the sentence. Stepping closer he glared down coldly,

"Important new client?"

Louis shuffled backwards, clearly having graduated from Coward High with Andre. Waving a hand towards Harvey's office he could barely hide the confusion in his tone,

"Tucker Stem – ,"

He barely finished. Harvey was in through the door like a shot; clearing Donna's cubicle in three long strides and coming to a standstill alongside his desk. The scene that awaited him was almost comically normal. Tucker Stemmings was sat on his couch, turning over an old LP and swilling a glass of scotch in one hand. His attire – as usual – was a gaudy affair this time in hues of forest and lime and at his side sat a familiar blue folder with a leaf of loose paper jutting out of one side. On seeing his lawyer the older man smiled and put down his drink to extend a hand.

"Harvey," he began, buttoning his jacket and standing like a King receiving visitors at court. In _his_ god damn office no less, "I do hope whatever kept you wasn't serious? I know I should have booked an appointment but I couldn't get through to your secretary this morning and Louis here has been kind enough to – ,"

As Louis beamed in anticipation of gratitude Harvey beat them both to the crux, stepping forward with eyes that flashed danger and balling his hands up into tight fists,

"You've got some god damn nerve showing up here,"

"Uh, Harvey," Louis countered nervously, "Mr. Stemmings came by to give you – ,"

"Bullshit."

"What?"

"I said bullshit," Harvey replied, talking to Louis but his eyes still on Stemmings, "He didn't come here to give me anything – he came to see if I know what he did."

Louis faltered,

"Wh – what did he do?"

"Go on, tell him," Stemmings cut in; loud, even and completely unruffled. He paused briefly to sip at his drink and Harvey watched his grey eyes sparkle. The bastard was actually _enjoying_ it all – including the part where he got to play innocent, "Then when you're done you can tell me too, since I'm not quite sure what I'm being accused of."

"You know _exactly_ what you're being accused of,"

"Bringing back your papers?" Stemmings replied, blithely holding up the folder, "I signed them by the way. I'm surprised Michael left them, but then he did seem a little _preoccupied_ last night."

"You son of a bitch," Harvey breathed, already moving as he said it. Reaching Stemmings he knocked away the folder, sending a cascade of documents through the air. Tucker Stemmings never flinched but Louis jumped nearly a foot in the air,

"Harvey, what – ,"

"This doesn't concern you Louis and unless you want to be a witness I suggest you leave."

The smaller man wavered in the doorway, clearly torn between breaking things up – whatever _things_ actually happened to be – and getting a million miles away. Either to help him or notch up the stakes, Tucker Stemmings smiled back at him coolly,

"I don't know about you Mr. Litt, but to me that sounds a lot like a threat, which isn't something I'd usually expect from the man I hired to represent me,"

Harvey grabbed him by the lapels, shunting him backwards by two or three steps,

"You think I'd agree to be your lawyer after what you did?"

Louis faltered and fled from the room. Harvey barely registered him go; as far as he had been concerned it had always just been he and Stemmings.

"I had hoped," the older man shrugged, eerily cool for a man under threat, "After all, I _did_ so like your employees – ,"

Harvey gave him a two-handed shove, sending the millionaire back into the metal framework of the couch and delivering him heavily onto the cushions. For the briefest of moments he looked mildly stunned. Harvey stepped closer, towering over him,

"You're a god damn son of a bitch."

"Yes," Tucker noted dryly, "I think we've covered that."

"What you did – ,"

"What _I_ did? What _did_ I do? Your associate came over unwell and I simply offered to take him home. So far not a crime."

Harvey levelled a finger at him,

"Don't play dumb with me – you drugged him – and as for taking him home? I think we both know where he would have ended up had he not been smart enough to see through your crap."

Tucker Stemmings sat back and sighed. His expression was curious and all kinds of creepy. The man looked certifiably insane and it was surprising just how many businessmen were. Sometimes the world Harvey moved in was a dark one.

"You think I drugged Michael?"

The constant use of _Michael_ sent a shiver down Harvey's spine. It hadn't bothered him throughout their first meeting but then that had been _before_. His eyes darkened,

"I _know_ you did."

"Then I'd be delighted to see whatever proof you have, clear up this little _misunderstanding_."

Harvey paused then almost smiled. So here they were; the heart of the matter and suddenly Harvey was holding all the cards. Stemmings had chosen to target Mike – aside from personal thoughts and feelings – purely because he thought he _could_. Tucker Stemmings was a man who had everything and his mistake was that he expected to keep it, just so long as the money kept coming. In his world it was probably more than enough but in Harvey's world it definitely wasn't and reaching into his inside pocket he drew out and slowly unfolded a letter.

"I've got everything I need right here,"

"Really?" drawled Stemmings, his grey eyes disinterested, "And what is that, if I might ask?"

"The sworn statement of Andre Bettencourt – bartender at The Corinthian Club and the man who drugs the clientele for you."

For a second a look flashed across Stemmings' features; irritation, alarm and disbelief all at once. It vanished again just as quickly but to Harvey it was the signal he needed.

"I thought that might change things."

"I'm not sure it does," Stemmings countered, "Because it's his word against mine and you know – as well as I do – that cases like this rarely make trial."

"Only it's not just his word, it's Mike's word too."

Stemmings smiled,

"Are you sure about that?"

Harvey snorted; understanding the subtext. Flunitrazepam was all but notorious for its potency and in particular its amnesiac effects. Clearly it was Stemmings' fall back plan but this time around the situation was different and whether Mike remembered or not he was still Harvey's ace in the hole.

"Oh I'm sure, because you made one mistake. See, not only did you target _my_ guy but you chose the one associate in the firm with a photographic memory. So I don't give a shit what you gave him because he's going to remember everything."

Stemmings blinked at him,

"You're lying."

"I'm not but I don't expect you to believe me. We'll just take this to the police and let them decide if Mike can remember things – which they will, once I've had him recite the dictionary. Besides, even if they don't, I've still got written proof of the presence of drugs at your club. So if _you_ don't go down that glorified museum will and I'll make sure _everyone_ knows exactly who's to blame."

For thirty seconds Tucker Stemmings said nothing; his mind – behind the cold hard eyes – moving almost a mile a minute. He had recognized the threat the moment he heard it; still ringing loud from the night before when Mike had spluttered much the same thing. It meant that mentor and associate had spoken and while it didn't prove Mike's abilities it certainly didn't _disprove_ them either, which meant that he had precious little option. Reluctantly he whet his lips,

"What do you want Specter?"

"Preferably? Your head on a stake, but right now I'll settle for your business."

"What?"

Harvey smiled; it wasn't a kind expression. From the moment Mike had dropped onto his couch right until the early hours – when exhaustion had finally called Harvey to bed – the wheels in the closer's head had been turning; sorting through his various options. In the end the plan had been the most obvious and although he had seen the big reveal differently, the truth was it didn't matter _where_ it happened just so long as it actually _happened_.

"An hour ago I signed Intratek as my client."

Stemmings blinked; confusion blooming,

" _Intratek_? Why? You know they're bankrupt Harvey. It's the reason they were going to have to accept my buy-out. The buy-out _you_ were going to draw up the paperwork for."

"I was," Harvey nodded coolly, " _When_ you were my client – which you're not anymore because they are and I've already drawn up the papers for them. But here's the thing Tucker, see, you're not buying them out because they don't need it. Thirty minutes ago they found a lender."

Stemmings snorted,

"I don't believe you,"

"You should. His name's Elliott Letts, you've probably heard of him – eighth richest businessman in the country, about five foot nine, you screwed him out a deal a couple of years ago – any of this stuff ringing bells?"

Stemming glowered at him; evidently that was a _yes._

"Alistair would never sell Intratek – ,"

"No, he would never sell Intratek to _you_. But as it turns out he and Elliott have a lot in common."

"Which means, I _suppose_ , a mutual dislike of myself," Stemmings dripped,

Harvey shrugged,

"Well, _dislike_ wasn't the word they used although it's pretty close. But what it means is that Intratek can carry on developing their model and with Elliott's money behind them they're going to be able to put it out on the shelves a hell of a lot quicker than your crappy alternative. Within a year they're going to have cornered the market and your product will come out too little too late."

He finished with another cool smile, designed primarily to make Stemmings blow. In that respect it worked almost perfectly,

"Damn it Harvey!" the smaller man bellowed, launching forward off the couch but stumbling a little as the leather folds hung on to him, "This is my company! This is my _life_!"

"What about Mike's?" Harvey shot back, matching him toe-toe with ferocity, "Because if you think this is a step too far, trust me, this is me being _generous._ My other option was the District Attorney and you'd better believe that if you put so much as one toe wrong between now and the rest of your days I'm going to know about it and the next time I'm not going to be so lenient. If you so much as _look_ at Mike Ross again, I won't even bother the DA, I'll put you in the ground myself."

As he had been speaking Harvey had slowly been pacing closer, moving like a tiger stalking a deer. For his part Stemmings' bravado had wavered; hit with having been bested professionally and the realisation that the same was true physically. In response he inched towards the door but although he was defeated, he wasn't going easily; he never had and he certainly never would.

"All this over some kid?" he spluttered bitterly, his face creasing up to such an extent that his eyes nearly vanished inside the folds of his cheeks, "Are you jealous Harvey? Is that was this is? You want to keep him for your own sordid ends? If you'd have said I could have shared – ,"

At the exact same moment that Jessica Pearson reached Harvey's office – Louis in tow like a nervy Jack Russell – Tucker Stemmings exited bodily; propelled by a solid right-hook to the cheek. The managing partner side stepped easily but Louis wasn't quite so quick, almost physically catching Stemmings and then stumbling backwards towards Donna's desk. If it weren't for the fact that Stemmings was in velvet it would almost have been difficult to tell them apart.

"Harvey – ,"

"Jessica, get him out of here,"

Harvey's tone was hoarse with fury and in all the years that she had known him, Jessica had never seen him so close to the edge. He was half an inch away from murderous and regardless of what had happened between the men her course of action was instantly clear.

"Louis," she started, eyes not leaving Harvey, "Take Mr. Stemmings to my office and get him some ice. I'll be there in a minute."

"But – ,"

" _Now_ Louis."

"Fine."

The sound of pained grunting filled the corridor; not that Harvey seemed to care. In the time it took for Jessica to blink he had spun on the spot and returned to his office; an exit followed by the clink of crystal ware. Jessica followed a pace or two behind him and by the time she made it through the partition her senior partner had already been drinking. Filling a second glass he offered it across to her and she took it silently; at least for a second.

"Isn't it a little early?"

"That depends on how long you've been up," he answered flatly, flexing his fingers and glancing down at his knuckles. Three of them were red and blotchy. Jessica took a sip of her drink,

"So do you want to tell me what happened? Or do I have to fire your ass?"

"Right now, I don't give a shit what you do."

"You hit a client Harvey," Jessica pressed him, fighting to keep her own anger in check, "What I want to know is why and why, for that matter, are Donna and Mike Ross absent today?"

Harvey looked up at her, clearly surprised and taking another long, cool sip Jessica raised her brows in amusement,

"You think I don't notice when something is off? This is _my_ firm Harvey, it's my _job_ to notice. So if you want to tell me what's going on, now's your chance, otherwise I'm instructing Tucker Stemmings to press charges and you'd better believe that I'll represent him myself."

Harvey blinked; his expression neutral.

"Then you might want to hold off on having a drink with him. Not that you're exactly his type."

Jessica sighed and took a seat in the armchair; sensing a long and sorry tale to follow. She swilled the scotch in the tumbler idly,

"Alright, I'm listening but this better be good."

It was better than good; it was practically unbelievable.


	8. Chapter Seven

Hi all, sorry I'm a bit late with this one. FF hasn't be letting me (or possibly anyone, I don't know) log in so I had no way of getting this up. I came back from the cinema all ready to post (Man From UNCLE, amazing film, go see it if you haven't already - bromance lovers you won't be sorry) and then nothing...but such is life.

Anyway, here it is now, I hope you enjoy it. We're taking the drama down a notch in this one but don't worry we'll pick it up again next time.

* * *

 **Chapter Seven.**

Mike's re-emergence back into consciousness happened suddenly and without any warning. One minute he was swimming in thick gooey blackness – drifting through a disjointed series of dreams – and the next he was almost fully awake, flat on his back and staring up at a ceiling. His heart was pounding hard in his chest and although he had no immediate recollection he knew that he had come to with a start.

"Wha – how – ,"

The sound of high heels clicked quickly towards him; striking hard against a solid floor and hammering into the recesses of his skull. As he turned away from them with a frown he was startled again by a hand on his chest.

"Mike?"

When he looked back it was into a halo of auburn hair; turned almost orange by the bright beams of light. Black-lined eyes stared down at him wide with concern,

"Donna?" he blinked, "Wha – what's going on? Where's Harvey?"

It seemed a logical question. After all where there was Donna there was usually Harvey and the one place where they _both_ were was work. Somehow he must have fallen asleep which meant that he was probably in trouble. Donna's answer caught him off guard,

"He's at the office."

"Huh? Then – where are _we_?"

"Harvey's apartment," she answered gently, keeping her palm pressed down on his chest. As he tried to sit upright it pinned him in place.

" _Harvey's_ apartment? As in – Harvey's _apartment_?"

Donna nodded,

"Try to remember what happened last night,"

"Last night," Mike repeated blankly, then once again for good measure, "Last night,"

"You went for drinks with Tucker Stemmings, to finalise the deal from yesterday."

An image swum vaguely through Mike's dulled head,

"He was wearing blue velvet."

"That's good," Donna soothed. Her voice was gentle; it was oddly alarming. If she'd snapped at him he might have felt better, "What else?"

"I ordered a soda?"

"Uh-huh, then what?"

Suddenly the memories came hammering back to him; collapsing like a heap of bricks dropped at height from an overworked crane.

"Right," he groaned, shutting his eyes again. He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep but every inch of him still craved more, "The soda. He drugged me."

"Like the pretty blonde in a teenage drama – one of the good ones where the cast go on to be movie stars instead of getting fat and starting fights on planes."

The sass was back; that was good. It may have been quite softly spoken – and joined by fingers smoothing down his hair – but there was no denying that it was back and almost immediately Mike felt better. Brushing her hand aside he pushed himself upright, surprised by the amount of effort it took. In the end he made it as far as the armrest and dropped back onto it only semi-vertical. Donna offered a glass of water and he took it slowly in trembling hands.

"Wow," he murmured, shaking his head, "I feel like I've been hit with a jackhammer."

"Which incidentally is what I may do to Tucker,"

The sentence fell away from her tongue with levity but her sharp eyes shone unmistakable hatred. For a moment it filled Mike with a strange pang of warmth – it had been a long time since anyone had mothered him and longer still since he'd had a champion. Trevor counted of a _sort_ he guessed but then Trevor had never really struck fear into hearts; Donna did – including his – and between them she and Harvey were damn near terrifying. _Harvey_.

"Uh, Donna, talking about that – why exactly is Harvey at the office? I mean why isn't he – ," he gestured, "Here?"

"Do you want Daddy?"

Mike pulled a face,

"Okay, creepy, especially given what happened last night but no I mean – what is he _doing_ at the office? Is he working or is he – ,"

"Planning a fate worse than death for Tucker Stemmings? He'd better be. He promised he would."

She took a sip of something clear from a tumbler which Mike strongly doubted was water. For a soldier at arms she seemed eerily calm.

"Donna, what's he going to do?"

"Well whatever it is," she responded brightly, "It won't be pretty that's for sure. You hungry?"

In a second she was up from coffee table, plucking the water free from his hand and clicking her way back into the kitchen. Mike frowned; his head was still pitching and much of his vision was bordered by stars. He still felt nauseous; dangerously so.

"No, I'm good – I mean, considering."

Donna clattered around in the kitchen. It occurred to him that she was trying to distract herself. Mike shut his eyes – the darkness calling him – and so when Donna spoke it caught him by surprise.

"You had him pretty rattled you know?"

"Stemmings?"

" _Harvey_ ," Donna pressed, her tone becoming suddenly softer, "When he realised what had happened – the way he described seeing you out there? He was worried. I've hardly ever seen him like that. He blames himself."

Mike scrubbed at his eyes roughly. _God_ the light in the kitchen was bright. Had Harvey's countertops always been that dazzling?

"I told him not to," he mumbled back, "We agreed that we would blame it on Tucker."

"Well he lied because Harvey still blames himself."

"So then we both lied because I still blame _myself_."

For a second Donna stopped what she was doing, staring across the space between them and watching him with unreadable eyes. Crossing the space she sat down beside him and shunted a toasted bagel his way. Clearly she seemed to think she knew best and as he took an appeasing mouthful he had to admit she was probably right.

"It's not your fault Mike,"

"That doesn't make me feel better. _You_ would have seen someone trying to drug you,"

She smiled back winningly,

"Well, I am Donna,"

"Who could forget?"

"Nobody," she shrugged before sobering sympathetically, "But seriously Mike, it wasn't your fault. Stemmings is – ,"

"Devious?"

"An asshole, but he's smarter than most and maybe – _maybe_ , if I was at the end of a very long day and some freak accident had glued my eyelashes together – I wouldn't have seen it coming either."

In their world it was all the reassurance he needed,

"Thanks Donna."

The red-head pointed a finger at him,

"You tell anyone I said that and I _will_ kill you."

"Yeah, that's not going to be a problem," he snorted; he sounded bitter and Donna – returning

to the kitchen on some vague _keep moving_ errand or other – paused to look at him, "I'm not exactly planning on broadcasting this."

"You don't want Rachel to find out. You're embarrassed."

Neither part of her sentence held a question and letting out a weary sigh Mike swiped a hand across his face and nodded,

"Of course I am Donna, you said it yourself, I was practically a damsel in distress last night – ,"

"Uh-uh, that's not what I said,"

"Close enough," he reasoned, throwing his hands wide, "And now instead of kicking the guy's ass myself, Harvey's out there doing it for me."

Donna blinked for a second then turned. This time she shunned the coffee table, taking a seat directly beside him and sending him scrabbling to move his feet.

"Listen Mike," she started slowly, holding his gaze with eerie intensity, "I know that you're used to dealing with things on your own – your parents, your grandmother, that douchebag friend – ,"

"Trevor," he interjected absently. Donna ignored him.

"But the minute Harvey took you on he became more than just your boss – he became your guard dog as well and although he doesn't always show it in the way that a _normal_ human being would, the moments where he _can_ fight for you – and does – are how you know he values you. He can't show it any other way and _that's_ why he's out there now, not because you're not capable of kicking Stemmings' ass yourself but because he _has_ to."

Mike blinked back at her, letting the words sink into his head. He still felt stupid – possibly he always would – but the simple truth behind her speech was gratifying and for the first time Mike felt less uneasy. Slowly he smiled back at her, quirking an eyebrow,

"Are you saying that Harvey's not normal?"

She pursed her lips; her eyes sparkling.

"You tell anyone I said that – ,"

"Yeah, yeah," Mike flapped a hand, "You'll kill me, I know."

Settling back further he shut his eyes again, briefly feeling Donna's hand rest against his forehead. Presumably pleased by the temperature she found the action was followed by the sound of her high heels, clicking away from him and then cleaning noises coming from the kitchen.

The second wash of exhaustion came across him more softly; beckoning him in like a friendly old neighbour rather than a marauding army. He let it take him with a sigh of contentment; one final image floating round his head – Harvey as a Doberman wearing a three-piece and growling at a cowering French poodle Stemmings. He snorted once then fell asleep.


	9. Chapter Eight

Sorry, meant to post this earlier but fell asleep on the sofa after work, so here it is now! Enjoy.

* * *

 **Chapter Eight.**

Jessica had listened to the story in silence; moving only to sip at her scotch and shake her head in vague disbelief. The liquid swirled across her tongue and slid like silk down the back of her throat. It meant when she spoke that her tone was still even regardless of how the rest of her felt,

"Damn the Corinthian. I always hated that place."

In response Harvey snorted and emptied his glass but other than looking like he was ready to kill he kept uncharacteristically quiet. Jessica mirrored him by downing the dregs.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, watching Harvey's features closely,

"I've done it already. I told you. I lost him the Intratek deal."

"I know," she replied, "I meant about the bartender's confession."

Harvey stared back at her,

"What do _you_ think I should do?"

"Bury the bastard," she answered instantly; there was a frosty quality to her expression that pleased him. Usually when Mike was the topic of conversation between them it was because the younger man had fallen squarely into her sights; by inadvertently talking a witness out of a trial, by saying something clumsy or stupid or most of the time simply by being there. This time however she was outraged _for_ him and having her on side for once gave Harvey a boost he didn't realise he'd needed.

"Trust me," he grimaced, "I've thought about it."

"But you don't want Mike to have to make a statement."

It wasn't a question so he didn't give an answer, simply continuing to stare through the window. In the building across the street from theirs a shirt-wearing executive practised his golf swing. Even with the distance Harvey could see he wasn't lifting his elbow properly. He would never impress anybody like that.

"Where's the kid now?"

"My place,"

"Your place?"

She sounded surprised – she probably was; Harvey was not an invitational sort of guy. In all the years she'd known him she'd only been to his place a handful of times and although she felt comfortable enough there it surprised her that Mike had been afforded the same privileges after what amounted – relatively speaking – to so short an acquaintance. Harvey however seemed unperturbed,

"It was closer. He would never have made it to his."

"I assume that's where Donna has been today too."

Seeing as that wasn't a question either, Harvey offered a not-quite answer,

"Trust me," he snorted, "She's better off there. She's like a mountain lion with cubs."

"I can imagine," Jessica replied dryly; the expression only lasted a second, "Do you think he will remember anything?"

"I expect so – its Mike."

"But you think it would be better if he didn't."

Throwing up his hands in a gesture of bewilderment Harvey took a seat on the edge of his desk,

"I don't know. How would you be?"

"If some asshole drugged me and tried to drag me home? Honestly?" Jessica chuckled, "I'd be pissed. But I would still want to remember it."

"He blamed himself last night. If he does remember that won't have changed."

Jessica eyed him steadily,

"Is it more or less than you blame yourself?"

"What makes you think I blame myself?"

It was an assumption people kept making about him and weren't so wholly wrong about either. Knowing it Jessica levelled her gaze,

"Because if this had happened when you were _my_ associate I'd have blamed myself all day long and I know you well enough to know that you'll do the same,"

"Jessica," he sighed, "It's not that – ,"

"Then what is it?"

"Mike didn't want to meet with Stemmings in the first place. He practically begged me not to make him go. So you know what I did? I sent him anyway."

"And from the sounds of it," Jessica continued pointedly, "The kid handled himself admirably in the circumstances and saved himself from possible trouble."

Harvey blinked at her,

"That's it? That's all you have to say?"

Rearranging the hem of her skirt Jessica sighed and returned his gaze,

"Harvey, as far as Mike Ross goes, I might never understand what it is about him that is so special that you were willing to put your future at this firm on the line. But as far as having a protégée goes? I still remember a thing or two. Which is why, if you want to take this further I will back you one hundred percent. If you don't I'll understand that too. The ball's in your court."

"The ball's in _Mike's_ court," Harvey corrected before pausing briefly, "But thank you,"

Dropping her empty glass onto the coffee table Jessica slowly rose from her seat; it was a little like watching a gazelle uncurl and standing at her full height with her chin held aloft it was difficult not to be impressed by her presence. She nodded once, her dark eyes glinting,

"Good. Now, there's a sadist in my office who's using up one of my ice packs. What do you say we go kick his ass out?"

Harvey snorted; the mischief creeping back.

"You mean Louis or Stemmings?"

Jessica paused, one hand on the doorframe.

"Can't it be a two for one?"

She was sashaying away from him before he could answer her; brown waves bouncing round her shoulders. Harvey fell into step alongside her, matching her long stride pace for pace. They travelled the distance to her office in silence; anger building to a shivering crescendo and their combined steely glances shooing away anyone who had the misfortune to cross their path. Reaching the doorway fractionally quicker Harvey swung it open heavily and stepped aside to let Jessica in.

Tucker Stemmings was sprawled along her sofa; head lolling lazily across the backrest, his arms spread out like a strange snow angel. An ice pack lay balanced across his upper cheek bone and his eyes were shut as if he were sleeping. Harvey briefly hoped he'd died.

On seeing Jessica stride across the threshold Louis jumped up from his perch on the footstall, seven kinds of outrage playing across his face,

"That's it Jessica, he's done it this time. Your pitbull has _damaged_ the face of a clien – ,"

On seeing Harvey entering behind her the smaller lawyer cut himself off, surprised not only by the other man's presence but also by the unnerving smirk he was wearing. Swallowing down the sudden uneasiness Louis took a breath and tried again,

"What's he doing here?"

Jessica was unflinching; her arms tightly folded,

"He's here to watch me throw this man out."

"To – what?"

Smiling broadly Harvey copied Jessica; crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back against the partitioning. Louis was blinking at them like a goldfish although Stemmings – for his part – hadn't moved. Perhaps he was dead after all.

"Jessica," Louis stuttered in bewilderment, "You're not serious? Harvey – ,"

"Did something I wish I could do,"

" _Punch a client_?!"

"No," she countered, her gaze finally swinging to Stemmings, "Punch a dirty lying asshole who thinks it's acceptable to treat the staff at this firm like playthings in his sordid games."

Stemmings snorted in vague amusement, still not bothering to open his eyes. Harvey felt his fists twitch angrily. Jessica however had it under control.

"You think this is funny?"

"I think this is a witch-hunt,"

It was the first time he had spoken since they'd entered the office and just like his expression it was irritatingly indifferent.

"A witch hunt implies a fruitless endeavour. But you know what you did and we know what you did, so let's just the cut the bullshit and get on with it. I want you out of this building and I'm giving you two choices on how that happens. Either you can get up and walk out or I'll have security do it for you but whichever one you pick it's happening now and _Louis_ , not another word."

She had managed to intercept the interruption beautifully, simply holding up a warning finger and cutting off the financial whizz mid-breath. Harvey watched him with a smirk of amusement, tracing the hasty gulp of silence and the following flush of pure embarrassment. No doubt for the next few days or two the financial specialist would be full of questions; trying to root out what had happened and why. Knowing Louis he might even come close to the truth but he wouldn't discover the full extent and Harvey would make sure he never did.

From across on the cushions Tucker Stemmings sighed; a long weary sound like an overworked mother. The ice pack dropped down into his hand and he sat upright and blinked at them passively.

"Well, I think I know when I'm not wanted."

Harvey's eyes flashed,

"Really? I don't think you know at all."

The bruise on Stemmings' face was puckering; pulling in the skin as it swelled and beginning to mottle in hot pinks and reds that stood out even brighter against the ice-white surroundings. As he shuffled past him Louis stepped aside, caught between wanting to offer some sympathy and the palpable anger radiating from his seniors. In the end he simply decided to keep quiet; Harvey blocked the doorway pointedly.

"Tucker?" Jessica offered briskly, "If you think we won't use that confession then you're wrong. We can and we will. I've been in the legal business for over twenty years and trust me when I say I've made _plenty_ of contacts. Any one of them would be happy to put you away and I sure as hell would be happy to help them. Don't give me a reason. Also, it goes without saying, that this firm is no longer your legal representation. Go farm your deals out somewhere else, but good luck getting anyone in New York to take you on, now or ever. I trust I make myself clear?"

She did – crystalline – and offering up a final snort Stemmings turned and pushed through the doorway. As he brushed past him Harvey bristled, fighting down the urge to hit him again and then to keep on hitting until he saw blood. Jessica's gaze however kept him in check as did the knowledge of their tactical advantage. The last thing they needed was to lose the winning hand and a flat out assault might just about do that. Although as far as Louis was concerned, both they and the firm had already lost.

"Jessica," he spluttered in white-faced shock, "What the hell? You just let _Tucker Stemmings_ go? The guy is a multi-millionaire and the head of global corporation to boot. What could he have done that is so bad as to – ,"

"Louis," Jessica countered sharply, "I suggest you go back to your office and pretend that none of what you just saw happened. I appreciate you finding yourself in the middle but none of this is your concern or will ever be."

"But Jessica, for god's sake, Harvey _punched_ – ,"

" _Now_."

It was a single growled-out word but it came from so far at the back of her throat that had Louis not already been nervous it would have rendered him virtually paralysed with fear. In the end however he simply nodded and took himself hurriedly out of the room. Harvey didn't move much for him either and once the grey suit had bustled down the corridor the taller man let his smile widen,

"Remind me not to get on your bad side."

She turned away from him, facing the window,

"Come on Harvey, I hate a liar as much as you do. Besides, you bringing in Elliott Letts more than makes up for losing Stemmings. Now, if you'll excuse me I've wasted more than enough time on this already. I have some actual work to be getting on with."

Harvey nodded,

"Sure you do."

"Oh and Harvey?" she called as he headed for the doorway, one hand on the handle, one foot off the weave. Her expression was unusually unreadable but it looked a little – a _little_ – like empathy, "Take the day and go check on the kid. Make sure he's doing okay and if he is, tell him I expect him back first thing Monday morning."

He paused briefly,

"Jessica? Thank you."

"Get out of here."

* * *

There. I hope it was worth the wait. As ever thank you for my lovely reviews which are pushing me on to bigger and better (well, hopefully) things. One more chapter after this one. Nearly there now.


	10. Chapter Nine

So here we are gang. The very last chapter.

Also, it was mentioned to me that Harvey was never told what Mike had been given - good catch. I did put it in at one point but hated how it made the rhythm of the sentence (how pretentious do I sound?!) so took it out and never put it in anywhere else. I was also working on the assumption that Harvey just knew from life experience. Or it's probably more likely that Donna knew (we know she knows everything) and told him. But yeah. My bad. I should have made that clearer.

As ever, enjoy.

* * *

 **Chapter Nine.**

The first thing Harvey saw as he opened his door was Donna standing in the hallway in front of him; her figure illuminated by the light from the windows and a handbag hung across the crook of her elbow. In the silence he frowned at her, not sure what to say although in the end he went with humour,

"Visiting hours over already?"

"Mike's in the shower," Donna offered succinctly, "I had his clothes dry cleaned because, well, they were icky. I think he sat in something,"

Harvey blinked,

"He was on the sidewalk when I got to him," he sounded absent; probably because it was how he felt, "Wait a second, you took his _clothes_? What's he been wearing?"

He knew the answer before she gave it,

"I found some old sweats at the back of your closet,"

"You raided my _closet_?"

Donna stared back at him unflinching,

"Oh, I'm sorry," she sang in sarcastic tones, "But at the time I thought it was preferable to having him wandering around your gigantic, glass box of an apartment naked."

Harvey pulled a face then shrugged grudgingly,

"Fine, you made the right call."

"I know I did. Besides, you don't have to worry, I dropped them off at the cleaners afterwards. I'll collect them on my way to the office tomorrow. I told them you would pick up the bill."

As the sound of the shower cut off abruptly, Harvey stole a glance in the direction of the bathroom; when he spoke again his voice was hushed and his expression was unusually tense,

"How is he?"

"He's Mike. He's going to be fine."

Harvey stared back at her, not buying the platitudes,

"Donna – ,"

She sighed,

"He's embarrassed, okay? He feels like Stemmings made a fool out of him."

Harvey grimaced,

"He did but it could have been worse."

No one said anything and for a second the pair of them stood in silence; each one thinking their own private thoughts. The ramifications of what _could_ have happened had been rattling around their heads all day made worse by the fact that the details were murky. What had Tucker wanted from Mike? What had been the eventual plan? As a thousand possibilities presented themselves Donna shook free an uneasy shudder,

"Harvey, _please_ tell me you kicked that guy's ass already?"

"I promised you I would and I did," he offered before smirking; clearly he was proud of something, "First me, then Jessica."

" _Jessica_ knows?"

Heading for the kitchen Harvey shrugged off his jacket, dropping it across an empty bar stool and scooping his mail up from out of the dish. In his absence it had been sorted and ordered so that the most important letters sat on the top. You could take the Secretary out of the office…

"Not at first. The clue was when I punched him in the face."

Suddenly it was Donna smirking,

"You hit him hard?"

"Right into Louis. He's going to have a nice black eye tomorrow."

"Louis or Stemmings?"

"Both I hope."

By the time the bathroom door clicked open Harvey was already onto the junk mail; having browsed through his general outgoings as he'd updated Donna on the Intratek deal. She had been grateful to hear that Tucker was going to lose more than just his inflated sense of dignity but deep down he suspected the punch pleased her most. He wasn't surprised; he felt the same and as Mike padded into view from the hallway – rubbing at his damp blonde hair with towel – he realised precisely why that was.

"You look better,"

"Harvey?" he blinked, turning briefly to glance out of the window and noting the brightness of the daylight beyond, "Uh, how long exactly was I in the shower?"

Donna smiled and watched Harvey raise a brow,

"Long enough to put up my hot water bill. Why do you ask?"

Mike shrugged,

"Isn't it a little early for you to be home for the day? What are you doing back here?"

"I live here, remember? My name's on the paperwork."

"No, what I _meant_ is – ," Mike paused uncertainly, "Did something happen?"

"Something like what?"

"You know _like what_ ," he frowned, "Did something happen with Tucker Stemmings?"

Harvey stared back at him; his face a blank canvas. The fact Mike had come out and asked was more of a relief than he was willing to say. The fact that Mike could say the name – and the sharp flash of anger when he did it – was the reassurance that Harvey had needed. Donna was right; Mike would be fine and as the silence started to stretch out between them it was the redhead who smiled and threw him a wink,

"Other than Harvey using him as a punching bag?"

Mike turned to stare,

"You hit him?"

"I did," an expression of wistfulness crossed Harvey's features, "I should have done it a whole lot more – given him a matching set."

Mike dropped onto a stool beside Donna,

"You went to see him?"

"Actually no, he came to me,"

"Came to you as in came to the _office_?" Mike barked in astonishment, "Okay, wow, I mean I get that he has no regard for the law but I _thought_ he would care a little more for his health,"

Harvey smiled; warmed by the subtext. Mike had _expected_ Harvey to come through for him. Harvey _had_ come through for him, twice. Suddenly he could have been looking at Marcus; the feelings were uniquely similar.

"I set up a bailout for Intratek," he offered instead, watching as Mike's eyes narrowed his way; the kid was back on the ball again, no more glassiness or drug-fuelled addlement, "Elliott Letts is going to pay off their creditors."

" _Elliott Letts_? How did you manage to get him on board? You've been trying to sign him as a client since before I started working for you."

Harvey smiled smugly, pouring a scotch. He had decided it would be his last for the day; he'd started early after all.

"Turns out I was just never offering the right incentive,"

"So what did you offer this time that was different?"

"The chance to screw over Tucker Stemmings – turns out he has fans every which way you look."

Watching him take a sip of his liquor Mike blinked and then suddenly snorted amusement,

"Which _means_ ," he continued, taking over, "That Intratek are going to be able to put out their prototype _before_ Stemmings' version is due for release. So either Stemmings is forced to rush his into production and put out an inferior product _or_ he hangs back and risks losing the market. Whatever he chooses he's going to lose millions."

"What can I say?" Harvey shrugged passively, "The technology industry is notoriously difficult. Some days you're up, some days you're finished."

Mike smiled softly,

"Thanks Harvey – you know – for last night _and_ for ruining a man's business for me."

Harvey glanced back at him; it lasted a second.

"Hey, that man ruined _my_ Thursday night. If you feel avenged that's purely coincidence,"

"Right," Mike nodded, "Sure it is."

As a contented silence fell between them Donna sighed cheerfully and edged from her perch; her bright green heels struck the floor loudly and taking a moment to smooth out her dress she turned to the pair of them with a far-too-bright smile,

"Well, if the two of you are done with my services for the day there's a flash sale at a boutique on Orchard that I was going to leave early to hit up anyway," she turned to Harvey with a wave of her hand, "You would have said yes, you know what discount means to me."

Her employer snorted,

"You've made it clear."

"So," she continued, barely breaking her stride as she turned and strutted out of the kitchen, "Unless you end up in any _more_ trouble I will see you at the office for a regular, _unspoilt_ day of work."

"Donna,"

As Harvey called her she stopped on the threshold. When she turned back her eyes were teary. Nobody mentioned it; nobody had to.

"Here," he smiled, passing across a small roll of notes, "How about you buy something _not_ on offer."

She took it silently; smile still wobbling.

"Oh and hey, thanks for today," Mike tacked on softly; meaning every single word, "If being a legal secretary doesn't work out, I think you'd make a pretty good caregiver."

The redhead took a steadying breath and flashed sharp eyes in his direction,

"Please," she snorted, "I could never wear flats."

A second later she was gone and the apartment fell instantly back into silence. For a moment it was oddly contented then just as suddenly it went it on for too long. Clearing his throat Mike slapped at the countertop,

"So, I guess I should be going home – I mean, now that I can physically _get_ there."

Harvey snorted,

"You realise you were like Bambi last night?"

"Hey," Mike responded, holding a hand up, "Do I have to remind you _again_ that I was rendered unconscious with illicit drugs?"

"I take it that means you remember what happened?"

"Yeah," Mike nodded, patting his skull, "It's all in there. Why? Do we need it?"

He didn't say it but they both knew what he was asking. _Do I need to make a statement?_ Harvey shook his head,

"Not right now,"

"What about Stemmings? What happens to him?"

"Other than dropping back down the rich list? That depends on him. My investigator's going to keep an eye on him and Jessica's pulling some strings – letting other firms know he's not to be trusted."

"Jessica?" Mike blinked, wide-eyed with horror, "Oh god, please tell me that she doesn't know."

Donna's words rang between Harvey's eardrums. _He's embarrassed_.

"Relax," he countered, "She knows because she's _Jessica_ and she guessed something was wrong the moment Donna didn't show up for work. Besides, this time she's on _our_ side and when it comes to something like this there's no one better to have in your corner. Trust me."

"Does anyone else know?"

"No,"

"What about Rachel? Oh god, or Louis? Does Louis know?"

"Mike," Harvey cut in, his tone growing sharper; he needed the harshness to break through the panic, "No one else knows, not Rachel, not Louis and no one is going to find out either."

"What about Andre? The _bartender_ ," Mike added as Harvey looked set to repeat _giant or seal_. His boss' smirk of amusement made him snort; the wash of anxiety steadying itself.

"He offered me a full confession,"

" _Offered_?"

Harvey pulled a face; his usual go-to _no big deal_ with an offhand shrug for added indifference,

"Offered, wrote under threat. Is the important thing _how_ I got it or _that_ I got it? Either way, it's ours and if Stemmings steps out of line again it's the first thing we'll use when we go after him. Andre can sweat it out until then."

As Harvey threw back the rest of his drink and slammed the glass down onto the counter, Mike watched him do it, holding back a grin. He still felt exhausted and unusually dopey but something about Harvey's bluster was easing it; just knowing that someone was _fighting_ for him. It felt nice. It felt safe. It felt like family. Of course he would never admit that to Harvey. His boss would simply bat it back. Instead he kept things decidedly on-topic,

"So I was right about him spiking my drink? Stemmings paid him?"

"A couple of thousand,"

"What? A couple of _thousand_? I'm in the wrong business,"

Harvey threw him a look of distaste but there was a spark of amusement mixed in with the frown,

"Nice to know you haven't lost your compulsion to say the wrong thing at precisely the wrong time,"

"Come on, you love my gallows humour."

"I love _my_ gallows humour," Harvey countered, " _Yours_ I tolerate, barely."

As he spoke he collected his jacket but rather than hanging it up as expected he slipped back into it and did up the buttons. Mike blinked at him,

"Uh, Harvey?"

"What?" He replied; his tone was casual and before Mike could answer the older man turned and disappeared into the bathroom emerging again with a neatly wrapped parcel. In it was Mike's suit jacket still bagged from the cleaners. He ripped it open and took it out, flapping it once before handing it across to him. Mike stood awkwardly,

"Are you throwing me out? Because, if this is how you treat everyone that spends the night here I think we might have figured out why you're still single."

Harvey cocked his head; unimpressed,

"No, I'm taking you out for lunch. Or I _was_ before you chose to insult me."

" _You_?" Mike blinked, too shocked for a come-back, " _You're_ taking _me_ out for lunch?"

Harvey shrugged,

"Isn't that what I said?"

"Yes but see, nobody mentioned you'd had a personality transplant today – and also, I'm still recovering from having recently been drugged – so I'm not sure I'm the best person to watch over you until it takes."

"Again with the insults?" Harvey frowned, "Really?"

Despite the fact that neither man said it they had both been striding towards the door. They would go out for a meal; Harvey would pay and both would have a very nice time without for a second daring to admit it. In the meantime however they would bitch and tease because that was the basis of their very unique friendship. Other people didn't get it; other people weren't supposed to. It was what it was and whatever it was worked. Harvey swung the door open briskly, letting Mike out into the hallway,

"We're having steak."

"Don't I get a say?"

"Why the hell should you?" Harvey shot back, turning the lock with a definite click, "I'm paying."

"Yes but you invited me and see, in the real world where people _interact_ , the decision lies at least partly with the _invitee_ – which is me – and _not_ the inviter – in this case you. I mean, what if I wanted pizza?"

" _Pizza_? What are you, five years old? Real men eat steak."

"Oh so you never eat pizza?"

"I sure as hell don't go out for it, no."

"You _never_ eat pizza?"

The elevator pinged and as the doors slid open the banter tailed off into companionable silence. Staring at the back of his blonde spikey head Harvey for the first time contemplated his associate. He still looked weary – all tired and red-eyed – but evidently Donna was right. It didn't stop Harvey wanting to kill Stemmings – or using Andre's severed head to do it – but the important thing was that Mike would be fine.

"Hey Harvey, how about _steak pizza_?"

"Are you crazy? Who the hell puts steak on a _pizza_?"

Yep. Both of them were going to be fine.

* * *

So there we have it. Done. I hope I succeeded in keeping it in canon/character etc. or that at the very least you all enjoyed the ride. Thank you so very much to all the lovely reviewers who have spurred me on and kept me smiling. I'm sorry for the mistakes or inaccuracies I missed and I'm sure when I read this back in a few years I will cringe at spelling errors etc. Oh well.

Now, as I mentioned earlier I am working on another story which is very different (to say the least) but once again I hope, stays true to the characters and over-all feeling of the show. In truth I don't really know why I'm writing it but it's been sitting in my head niggling at me for weeks so I just decided to commit it to paper. I'm just going to come right out and say it now...it's set in the Wild West. Harvey is the sheriff, Mike is well...basically everybody's in there and it's actually not as totally random as it sounds. It's going to be a lot longer than this one was and I'm only about a quarter of the way through, so I'll hang back on posting it properly until more is done. Look for it maybe mid-late October time. Anyway, if people are at all interested I can tack the first chapter onto the end of this as a taster, if not I won't.

But for now, thank you again.


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